


The First Horcrux

by Magentasouth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:29:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 137,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9326849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magentasouth/pseuds/Magentasouth
Summary: To err is human. Tom Riddle paid for his mistake dearly..but perhaps he can leverage a bad situation to his own advantage...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/reviews are appreciated and will encourage me to update stories sooner.

It was, in retrospect, an ill conceived plan.

He had needed to know it would work; his opus magna; his great ploy to cheat death, should he fail in his future endeavours and somehow be killed.  
He couldn’t let himself die, you see.  
No... He had thought about it at great length in the summer of his twelfth year as he lay on the hard pallet bed in his tiny stuffy room in the orphanage. 

Of all the things he could dedicate his attention and effort to now that he was a wizard – the only truly worthwhile one, as far as he could tell, was the pursuit of immortality. If that was given, then he had as much time as he needed to spend on all the other things. 

By the end of third year he had finally found something that sounded like what he needed in a dark arts book that Abraxas had brought him from the Malfoy library. 

He wasn’t very welcome at Malfoy manor. Abraxas father did not approve of his blood. He was quite used to that kind of thing in the meantime. It had been frustrating initially to learn that he was to be despised in this new world just as he had been despised in the orphanage - A freak there and a mudblood here.  
Not that any would dare use that name in reference to him now.  
At least not in earshot  
– but he was certain it was still used by those who considered themselves safely remote from him. 

The book referenced something called a “horcrux.” 

It was apparently something so vile and...Yes...it was actually referred to as evil, infernal, corrupt, depraved – it was considered so dark that virtually all reference to it was destroyed or ministry controlled. Merely seeking to learn about the topic was highly prohibited.  
It was worse than necromancy, apparently.  
He had had a terrible time getting more information, having to piece it together from dozens of sources.

The incantation had taken the longest because it needed to be exact. This was not an area to risk approximate experiments. 

He had had to insinuate his way into favour with almost all of the ancient families to get access to their libraries and it had not helped at all. Slughorn had known a little but the man was altogether too nervous and suspicious and in the end Tom had had to abandon him as a source. 

The breakthrough had come when he had discovered the location of Slytherin’s chamber.  
Funnily enough he had dreamt about it. He had been very discouraged that evening and when he had finally fallen asleep he had dreamt a voice was calling him. It was high and breathy and strange.  
It had called him down to the lowest level of the dungeons, to the end of a dead-end corridor and there it had commanded the way to open. 

There were stairs... darkness... he had walked on in the sublime confidence one has in dreams on occasion, and found himself in the vast stone cavern of what he would later come to recognise was the chamber of secrets. 

The voice had spoken further commands and the stone mouth of a great head at the end of the long damp chamber had opened, issuing forth an enormous serpent. Its eyes were closed but faint yellowish orbs were visible through the skin even so. The voice had told him to enter the head and he had awoken. 

Certain that it was far too exact... far too real to be an ordinary dream he had the next night searched out the corridor in the lower dungeons... he had spoken the words..exalted as the door appeared and it became apparent that everything else from the dream would be equally valid.  
There were rooms beyond the serpent’s antechamber in Slytherin’s great stone head.  
Many rooms.  
But he had only succeeded in opening one. It was sufficient.  
The room he opened was a library.

It was there he found the incantation.. the full description of the creation of a horcrux. 

The actual idea for the object of his first horcrux had crystallised at the beginning of his fourth year. 

He had always had a small amount of pocket money. Dippet said that it wasn’t right for a boy in Slytherin to be entirely without means and as an orphan the school provided all of his resources. 

The self-expanding diary had been the first thing he had ever bought for himself independently.  
It had caught his eye in the first week that he had begun school at the age of 11 and after a lot of hesitation, running the pads of his fingers over the thick brown buttery leather of its cover, he had given in to temptation and spent a quarter of his pocket money acquiring it. 

He had intended to use it for notations and spells but after only a week it had become a kind of external memory of sorts; and, in another sense, an object of devotion - The finest thing he had ever possessed. 

Obviously diaries were dangerous. It was never a good idea to let others know what one was thinking.  
At that point he had not yet known very many serious warding charms but he had done his best with what he could find in the library and had started to write in a language he made up.  
It had come strangely easy at the time. It was made of curling lines and dots. 

Years later, as he read through the books in the chamber of secrets he had discovered that this was not an invented language at all but the written equivalent of the serpent tongue. 

 

The idea had come to him while reading Slytherin’s books on soul magic - whether it might not be possible to create a sentient horcrux that could function autonomously...  
could perhaps even communicate... persuade others to perform the rites to reanimate it to flesh.. 

It seemed quite useful.  
After all, he couldn’t know whether he would have anyone in the future trustworthy enough to rely upon to bring him back, should he be killed somehow. 

He had thought of his diary. 

It had been one evening as he was writing in it. he had written something about Cygnus Black’s sinfully tempting lips that definitely should not have been immortalised in print in any language whatsoever, irrespective how many lethal wards and charms might protect it – and it had occurred to him, as he was poised to remove the words, exactly how open and trusting one was with such a book.  
How easily one revealed intimacies and secrets in the belief that it was safe to do so.  
He had wondered whether such a thing might be twisted into a means by which a horcrux might reanimate itself.

 

By the middle of fourth year he was ready to make his first attempt at the creation of a horcrux. 

He remembered the weeks leading up to it in excruciating detail. 

He had written chapters in the diary. He had written about his entire life. He had written everything he could think of... thoughts... hopes... dreams... but most of all memories. All of them.  
Good and bad – although most of them were bad, admittedly. 

The plans for who was to be his victim were almost an afterthought and it had happened rather suddenly in the end – on a Hogsmeade Saturday which he was technically not supposed to be allowed to take part in anyway, lacking the guardians to give permission. 

He had been in the shrieking shack, looking through the rooms, trying to decide whether it would be possible to take a random witch or wizard from Hogsmeade and perhaps bring them there for the rite or whether it would be better to try to abduct a student and drag them into the chamber of secrets, when someone had entered the shack. 

It was growing late and the shadows were long and blue on the dry dusty boards.  
He had crept downstairs under a silencing charm to find that a tramp had entered the building and was making himself comfortable on the old burst-spring sofa in the downstairs sitting room. 

He had frozen in place, all his senses on full alert, trying to determine whether the repulsive hairy man was alone.  
There did not tend to be hobos in Hogsmeade, generally speaking. He had never seen one before.  
This was therefore an anomaly. 

It had been dark by the time he had allowed himself to believe that the man was in fact alone and that no one else was likely to disturb them. 

His heart had been beating ten to the dozen as he considered whether it might not be the perfect opportunity to create his first horcrux. In subtext... whether this might be the first person he would ever kill... currently lying on the couch and snoring full throat.

He crept closer.  
Unwilling to cast a lumos and perhaps wake the man, he had enhanced his own eyesight instead.  
The man did not stir.  
He seemed to be in his late forties, perhaps early fifties. Not all that old, relatively speaking. He had a head full of thick clotted light brown curls and a full beard that looked like some kind of furred animal trying to eat his face. It was disgustingly filthy.  
The man seemed to be wearing layers of stinking clothes and his boots were cracked and holey.  
He did not appear to have a wand and attempting to summon one from him failed. 

It had taken another quarter of an hour before Tom had finally made the decision to do it... to perform the spell now...rather than later. 

He had silenced the man, which caused him to wake with a start, but by then tom’s incarcerous already bound him tightly. 

The first time he had tried the killing curse... which he had only ever performed before on spiders and mice he brought into the chamber of secrets... he failed. His wand emitted only a pitiful pale green glow. 

The fear on the man’s face was vivid and he struggled as frantically as he could against the bindings – but it was of no use to him. 

The next attempt at the curse did not fail.  
A vivid green flash hissed from the tip of his wand and knocked the life right out of the tramp’s eyes. 

He had held still for a moment, focussing inward, trying to sense what the books had told him would happen if he killed. But he could not, by best will, feel any difference that might suggest to him that he had just torn his soul. 

He pulled the shrunken diary from his satchel and returned it to full size.  
In the last minute it occurred to him that his spell might fail... just as the killing curse had... and that this book had cost such a considerable effort to create that it would be a shame if it were rendered useless by some unforeseen error. 

So he had duplicated the diary. 

It was the copy he had then used as he cast the fateful incantation; The words that would take the torn fabric of his soul and tear it loose... imprison it in an object, making him immortal. 

 

It had not gone at all how he had imagined. 

Perhaps it was simply bad luck.  
After all... if there were to be two parts to his soul then it was obvious that he would be one of the two and...Another version of himself would be the other.

He had never considered what might happen if he was not the part that continued to occupy his tangible form... 

He had wanted to create a sentient horcrux... and had in fact succeeded – but the satisfaction of that success was rather marred by the realisation that he himself WAS that sentient horcrux and was now encased in a still, silent tomb of Hogwarts, a world without weather, without change, without other students or teachers – that he had in fact crafted a prison for himself. 

From the moment he had opened his eyes and found himself on the school grounds looking up at the castle set against a steel grey sky, with light that was not exactly light but more the pure awareness of form, he had known that he had made a terrible error.  
He had raced inside the castle, run from room to room – the empty great hall... the empty Slytherin common room.  
It was silent as the grave. The only sounds his footfalls on the stone and even those were faint and dull as if the mere memory of sound.  
Only then had he begun to truly panic. 

What if he were trapped here forever... without any marker of the passing of time but the ticking over of his own thoughts?! 

Could he sleep? 

Did he eat? 

Was he able to leave the grounds? 

How was he to get out of here?! 

He had not intended to use the diary horcrux unless he himself died – it was a fallback option – not even his first choice for a horcrux to reanimate  
– for if he had more (and he intended to have many more) he would not choose to reanimate the self activating horcrux ever – that was the point of it - to serve as a last ditch save if his own plans all failed. 

And what if they didn’t... 

what if he found other better ways to become immortal. 

What if he never used the diary at all?! 

 

The panic was so great that he actually lost his mind for a time.  
He tried to sleep and found that he could not.  
He was ransacking Slytherin’s library and had been for what seemed like a long time, when the contact came. 

A diary had appeared... simply condensed out of the air and appeared before him... opened and then words had scratched themselves into its pages. It was his handwriting. 

[[Hello]]

He snatched up a quill and ink from Slytherin’s desk and scrawled in the book

{{Hello -  
You have to get me out of here!! This was a mistake!}}

There was no response. He grew increasingly frantic and wrote again

{{HELLO?!  
Look... I’m in Hogwarts. It’s empty. I can’t stay here. You don’t understand!! You need to get me out! We can find another method. Creating a sentient horcrux was a flawed idea!}}

The diary remained quiescent. Tom wished there were something... anything...alive that he could curse here.  
Finally the response came.

[[The spells on the diary failed. I believe it was due to the duplication. The compulsion and energy transfer charm was not duplicated with the book. I have been unable to apply it retroactively. The horcrux resists any new magic now. 

I cannot reanimate you.]]

The quill slipped out of his fingers as he stared at the words. NO!! It wasn’t possible! He couldn’t accept that! That could not be it. He would never let that be the end of it.

{{FIND A WAY!!}}

[[I cannot do much about it. I will ensure that the next attempt does not fail.]]

{{"WHAT ABOUT ME?!  
AND WHAT NEXT ATTEMPT?! Didn’t you listen?! You can’t make another sentient horcrux – you CAN’T!! Listen to me!! It’s inhuman – I can’t sleep... this place is not REAL...I can't...}}

The book dissolved into air beneath his fingertips. He screamed in fury and disbelief – he had closed the diary on himself. FUCK!!!! What was he supposed to do now?!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> review and comments are appreciated and will receive a response

He waited and waited but his outside self never opened the diary again. 

Over the...seeming eternity... of time he had scoured every book in the chamber, every book in the library.   
He had found a way to reanimate a horcrux from a simple object.   
He theorised that it would work just as well on the diary... but he never had the opportunity to tell his tangible self because the bastard never came back. 

Time lost all meaning. 

He had read and reread every book in Hogwarts hundreds of times. He no longer bothered to read. There was no point. He knew just about everything by heart. 

He would have taken up writing except that it was impossible to create anything new here.   
He might write a page but no sooner did he turn his attention from it than it vanished. 

He would wander aimlessly while his thoughts ticked over. 

He never spoke.   
Initially he had spoken a lot out loud... sometimes even sang.   
But the sound of his voice – the hollow way it fell in the dead world was more and more disturbing over time and so he’d stopped. 

As time stretched on and on without respite he lost himself. 

 

When the diary reappeared in front of him suddenly after a thousand unchanging years of this, he looked at it dumbly, wondering whether he had imagined it.   
Sometimes he did that.   
Imagined other people... imagined that something had moved...something had changed... it made him quite unsettled at times and he would run wildly as if chased by demons. 

He stared at the book in front of him on the table where he had been half lying apathetically thinking about peaches.   
He desperately wanted one.   
Peaches had taken on almost divine attributions over time... many different things had.   
He wanted to hear birdsong.   
He remembered painfully clearly the taste of a peach he had eaten while leaning up against the tree by the lake and reading from Goetegard. Above him in the tree a blackbird had sung. 

 

[[Hello?]]

The words were written in a small tentative script and it was not his own. His eyes watched as the words disappeared slowly.

[[Is there anyone there?]]

His left hand, apparently without his permission, automatically summoned a quill and scratched a reply on the probably imaginary book.

{{Yes.}}

The diary disappeared again.

He dropped the quill and sighed, letting his eyes unfocus again. In his mind he was recreating the shape of the handwriting, wondering whether his mind had created it, and if so – from whose handwriting he’d taken the memory template. 

It looked a rather feminine script. Even, measured, quite pleasing and clear to read – but somehow weak or giving the impression of someone who perhaps lacked confidence. The letters were bunched up quite closely together. The words huddled low. 

After a while he lost interest in the train of thought and drifted onto the spell he’d been thinking about.

Over the last..however long.. he’d started to invent spells. Some of them worked here and some of them didn’t. He couldn’t tell whether it was because of his condition and location or whether the spells were simply faulty.   
The one he had been thinking about lately was a variation on Raoxes energy absorption hex and two other transfer spells which, he theorised, should work like a generator of sorts – absorbing received curses, amplifying and making it possible to reuse them.   
Thinking about the particular transfer spells to use was the most important part.   
The version he was considering now would amplify a curse, in all likelihood, by a factor of perhaps fifty.   
It could be better. 

 

By the time he had come up with a better alternative to the variable flow shift charm which required separate casting (and was therefore impractical) the book had reappeared. He let his head turn slowly toward it on the table.

[[Tom?]]

That handwriting was familiar. 

He had a bad feeling.   
Whoever that was – it wasn’t someone he particularly liked. He was almost tempted to ignore it. The thought was absurd though. He might never get out of this horrible box but perhaps... just perhaps... he could persuade whoever that was to destroy the diary. 

He had come up with hundreds of ways to do so. Potions... spell... venoms... 

{{Hello.}}

He wrote it, almost reconciling himself to the expectation that whoever it was would leave again immediately.

[[Tom, my boy, are you well?]]

He actually groaned out loud as the sudden recognition of just whose handwriting it was struck him. Oh Salazar. Of all the possible wizards in the world who might discover him – this was possibly the worst case. Even after an eternity of this misery... he still loathed that old goat. 

Swallowing he tried to think of how to respond. A sarcastic ‘just dandy.’ would probably not help his case very much. In the end he decided to try for honesty and hope for mercy.

{{No... I’m afraid I’m not.  
Please Professor Dumbledore... I realise that you and I have never been on particularly good terms... but I am asking you... no... I am begging you to destroy this diary.}}

A long silence ensued. The diary did not however disappear. The words that appeared finally did not surprise him greatly.

[[I don’t believe I can do that, Tom. I’m sorry. I will not murder you.  
Would you mind terribly telling me exactly when you created this horcrux?]]

He sighed. Of course the old bastard wouldn’t put him out of his misery. He was probably just revelling in the identity of the tormented soul he held in his fingertips.   
Bastard.

{{1940.   
Please sir... If you won’t help me – perhaps you could find someone who would be prepared to?}}

{{I can tell you so many ways to do it.}}

{{I’ve had...so long...to think about it.}}

{{Please... I...cant I don’t want to be here forever. Anything would be better.}}

{{Please.}}

The book vanished slowly. He turned his head and experienced the completely unexpected urge to weep. He hadn’t done that in...A long time. 

 

Time passed. An indefinite period. Possibly days... weeks... who could tell anymore.   
He was...meditating - It was the closest he could come to sleep - when the book reappeared.

[[Tom?]]

He roused himself and summoned a quill. It took a minute or two, since he was sitting out on the grass under the monochrome sky and when it arrived, he realised he could have just transfigured one. 

{{Yes, sir?}}

[[I have come to a decision about whether to help you.]] 

He sat up straight, feeling suddenly more awake than he had in a while. This was an important piece of information. Dumbledore might possibly agree to kill him.   
Surely the man wouldn’t be cruel enough to return only to tell him that he was condemned to stay here forever. 

{{Yes, sir?? What have you decided?}}

[[I am not going to kill you, Tom.]]

He felt his heart twinge painfully as if garrotted by a piano wire.   
The bastard really had come here purely to rub his eternal imprisonment under his nose.

{{Oh.}}

It was all he could think to write. The word vanished immediately as Dumbledore started to write.

[[However I will help you.]]

[[I have decided to resurrect you.]]

The spectre that passed for his heart in this place stopped beating in shock. He hadn’t even considered that possibility in several ages. 

[[I will do this only under several conditions, tom.]]

{{I don’t care what they are. Anything. Whatever you want.   
Do you truly mean to free me?   
You’re not just saying it to torture me, are you?  
Please... get me out of here. Anything... please professor. I’ll do whatever you want.}} 

[[Tom.   
You must listen.]]

He forced himself to calm down although he desperately wanted to shake the man. 

{{I’m sorry.  
I’m listening sir.}}

[[The first condition is that I will require you to wear a certain necklace. It will function as a locating charm and it will also limit your movement in some ways. This will be a restriction on your freedom obviously...however if I am to trust you – I deem it necessary.]]

He didn’t hesitate.

{{You can chain me to a post in the grand hall if you really want. I don’t care. As long as I’m not in this thrice damned book.}}

[[I take it immortality is not as advertised then?  
...Forgive me. That was uncalled for. What has happened to you is an unfortunate tragedy.  
Admittedly you did bring it upon yourself...  
Apologies... That will be my last dig, Tom.]]

[[My second requirement is that you will associate only with those that I specifically approve. You will remain with these individuals as long and as often as I wish and you will never seek to escape them or to take up contact with anyone else without permission.]]

{{Fine.   
Anyone would be a sight for sore eyes right now.}}

[[My third stipulation, Tom, is that you provide whatever assistance you can on any matter I deem of importance. No matter your own preferences or feelings – you will offer any information or insight you possess. Are we understood?]]

{{Gladly.  
ANYTHING.}}

[[Very well.  
I shall require several hours to prepare.]] 

The book vanished again slowly and from that point on time seemed to slow painfully.   
He wondered whether Dumbledore had lied... whether he hadn’t instead taken several days to prepare.   
He wondered whether he would ever come back at all.

Sitting by the lake, looking out over the black smooth waveless expanse, hope and anticipation of almost painful levels warred inside with despair and self recrimination.   
Dumbledore was right. This had been all his own fault.   
And he was such a fool that he’d even ignored his OWN pleas and warnings. 

If he was still alive out there and he managed to get out – he was going to kill his other self for that. 

There wasn’t any warning when it happened. Just a blinding flash of the most intense pain he had ever felt (not that he had a particularly clear memory of pain).   
This was beyond everything. It felt as if he were being torn apart.  
it felt dizzying and he was nauseous – he hadn’t felt nausea since he’d arrived in this place.   
The sensation seemed to grow with each passing moment and the lake before him, the tree behind him, swam and shimmered as if in a heat haze. 

He clenched his eyes closed and astoundingly... gloriously, he felt himself actually slip away from consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews/comments are always appreciated and will receive a response

When awareness returned it was dark.

It was never dark in the diary. Even in an entirely enclosed and unlit room, somehow a mental outline of every object was nevertheless present in awareness. 

But now it was dark. And...things felt different. Textures... 

He could smell something. 

He was in the infirmary.   
It smelled of potions.   
The sheets felt crisp and overstarched on the bed he was laying in. 

He tried to sit up and look around.   
His body felt very different. When he moved he could feel peculiar rubbing and stretching sensations of the cotton pyjamas he was apparently wearing and his own muscles shifting.   
He moved experimentally a little more, stretching his arms out and then pulling them back, touching his face, his hair. 

He felt...exactly as he always had... except the textures and sensations were so much more now. 

“Welcome back, Tom” 

The unexpected voice from the side of the room startled him and he jumped nearly a foot in the air, his head spinning to peer in that direction.   
There was a shadow in the dark but he couldn’t make much out.   
The voice... sounded... almost like Dumbledore... except it was rougher... softer. it sounded tired. 

At that moment a lamp flickered into life beside his bed and illuminated the figure on the chair. 

He felt his own jaw drop. He couldn’t help it. Exactly how long had he been in the diary?!   
The man who sat there was unmistakeably Dumbledore – except that it wasn’t the Dumbledore he knew at all.   
That man had had shoulder length auburn curls, vivid twinkling blue eyes and a jaunty little moustache and goatee. He’d worn a lot of tweed and houndstooth and had a jolly bright demeanour (that was nevertheless sharp as a sawtooth blade).

The man sitting on the chair now however looked older than Methuselah.   
His white beard reached down past his waist and he had rheumy pale blue eyes, in which the twinkle was somehow less obnoxious than it had been.   
He looked tired and worn down by time. 

He was wearing an utterly appalling bright purple set of robes with orange embroidery around the hems and waist. 

As if suddenly realising his rudeness tom reeled his jaw back in and tried to compose himself.

“You have been gone for some time, Tom. As you see – time did not stop for the rest of us. The year is 1996.”

He fought to keep his face under control as this little titbit of trivia was laid upon him.   
1996\.   
That would make him...66... if he were alive now.   
That was entirely possible. 66 was no great age. He would surely still live...  
He reaffirmed his resolution to amend that circumstance. It would be quite interesting to watch himself scream under his wand.  
Oh.  
His wand.   
He didn’t have one now. His other self would have it. 

Dumbledore’s eyes were slightly narrowed and seemed to be weighing him up. He felt some faint inexplicable impression of disapproval.   
Apparently he’d screwed up already. A sharp stab of terror paralysed him.   
If he upset Dumbledore – was it possible for him to be sent back into the diary? Could the man do that? Was the diary gone? He didn’t know how he’d been reanimated. He needed to ensure he didn’t anger Dumbledore.

Dumbledore seemed to sigh and his gaze softened slightly.

“No, Tom. I can...quite understand... your ire toward your other self. I am certain that almost all wizards would feel the same way if they had experienced what you have.”   
“Nevertheless... it is a counterproductive line of thought.”   
“Do not worry yourself about the fate of the rest of your soul at present. It is more important that you try to focus on the here and now.”   
“I expect that it will be somewhat difficult for you to adapt to the real world once again. “ 

Tom blanched inwardly, unsure what to think. He both yearned to leap up and race out the door to ‘adapt to the real world again’ and also wished simply to continue to exist in peace and solitude, albeit with a different range of scenery. The smallest change was sufficient – more than that was overwhelming. Even the bare demands of this one sided conversation were taxing. 

He wanted Dumbledore to leave so that he could get used to the sensation of his body and the textures of his surroundings. The sound of a voice was too much after decades of silence.   
He didn’t know how to begin to use his own voice. Hopefully no response would be required.

The old man, seeming to sigh again, spoke more softly. 

“I see that you are very tired and more than a little overcome. I shall leave you to sleep. I will return in the morning and we will talk about what is to happen to you now.”

Tom offered a grateful expression although the idea of sleeping seemed utterly foreign. He didn’t even remember how one was supposed to go about it.   
Neither did he think he would manage to ‘talk’ about anything whatsoever with Dumbledore when the man returned in the morning.

Nevertheless, it seemed sufficient since Dumbledore pulled himself with creaking effort to his feet and, with a final gentle smile toward him, turned and left the infirmary. 

Tom didn’t bother to get up and check... he found he could feel the wards flick up from across the room. Apparently Dumbledore was not taking any chances. 

 

He sat for a long time, looking around the room that was...unfamiliar... and yet familiar. The bare bones of the room were similar to the infirmary in the diary... but everything was slightly different; the colours, the objects; it was all...real...

He cautiously pulled the blankets off and slipped his feet out of bed, pulling himself up to stand.   
The floor was cold under his bare feet.   
He had a strange feeling and couldn’t place what exactly it was. 

He walked up and down absently, curling his toes and wondering when it finally occurred to him. 

He was thirsty. 

Well... Easily solved. He went to the bathroom of the infirmary and filled a glass from the tap.   
The water was like a small slice of heaven. He drank and drank and drank. The sensation of it in his mouth... of it running down his throat so cool and smooth and refreshing. He drank until his stomach ached.   
Then a new sensation demanded his attention. He found himself overjoyed to recognise it. As it turned out, urinating was almost more satisfying than drinking had been.   
He went back to the tap and drank another five glasses of water in the gleeful anticipation of being able to do it again very soon. 

When he came out of the bathroom smiling, he was thinking of all the other things he couldn’t wait to do again. 

He pulled up short, his eyes widening when he saw the boy sitting in the chair by his bed. 

Dumbledore had said that he would leave him to sleep. Had he sent this boy? Why? The boy was a few years older than him – he put him in perhaps sixth or seventh year. He had a shock of messy black hair and wore circular black framed glasses. His face was quite thin and angular although he had a decent physique. 

None of those things were in any way salient however.   
What was of relevance was that he was looking at tom with an expression of loathing and he was pointing a wand. 

 

“Riddle.” The boy acknowledged as if they were somehow old acquaintances.   
He wondered at the familiarity of it. The boy must somehow know (and despise) his other self in this time.   
He didn’t move in the face of this new unexpected threat.

Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed someone who despised him this much to come in here when he was weak and unarmed, surely. 

If that was so then this boy had somehow gotten in here past the quite complicated wards that Dumbledore had set up.   
He sent a tentative feeler of awareness toward the door. The wards were in place. No running away then. 

He tried to find his voice to speak... but it had been so very long since he’d spoken... he opened his mouth and the breath died on his lips over and over again. He didn’t know what to say anyway. Possibly something along the lines of “who are you. I’d appreciate it if you did not kill me just yet. Does Dumbledore know you’re here? What do you want from me?” – Something along those lines. But he couldn’t get anything out at all. 

“Can you speak?!” the boy asked with some kind of strangely amused fascination. 

He opened his mouth again and tried, forming the word yes... but it was silent...no more than a shaped breath. 

The black haired boy snorted and pointed his wand at the lamp, brightening it. 

“Come here” he demanded softly. 

Tom hesitated but, really – non compliance in this situation seemed like a bad idea.   
He padded over to the other side of the bed nervously. 

When he was there he noticed something further about the boy who seemed to be debating hexing him. He had brilliant bottle green... no...They were brighter... he had Avada green eyes.   
He’d never seen eyes as vibrant...or in fact as deep and troubled... as these.   
They were mesmerising. He found himself staring. 

The boy immediately averted his gaze as if stung. “Don’t look me in the eye riddle. If you try to poke around in my mind, I’ll see to it that you stay in here a lot longer while they regrow every bone in your nasty little body. 

Tom’s interest was piqued by the cold vicious tone of the other. The boy sounded like he was quite prepared to follow through on the threat. Perhaps this boy might be useful?   
Poke around in his mind, he’d said. His other self in this time must be a legilimens. The only person he knew who could poke around in one’s mind was Dumbledore.

He examined the boy surreptitiously, avoiding direct eye contact. This boy didn’t just dislike him... he hated him... he wanted to kill him. It was written in every angle of his body as he sat there.   
The wand didn’t waver for a second. 

After a minute or so Tom lowered his eyes and carefully climbed back into bed.   
It wasn’t as if he could run from whoever this was. 

“How did you get here, anyway?! You look about bloody twelve! There’s no way in hell you could have made a horcrux at your age.” 

Tom jumped again at the casual reference to something that, as far as he was aware, 99.99% of all wizards and witches would never have heard of in their lives.   
And he wasn’t twelve...   
and it was just insulting to state that he’d never have been able to make one. They weren’t even that difficult to make. Getting the information had been a lot harder than carrying out the spell. 

He allowed his eyes to flick up to the other boy’s face for a second, staying around the area of his rather thin lips and then sliding back down to the white cottony surface of the bed covers. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake” the boy huffed and summoned something from the other side of the room wordlessly. The next moment parchment and quill were shoved under tom’s nose. 

“If you can’t speak – write. I want to know how you got here.”   
There was a moment of hesitation.   
“How old are you? Do you even know who I am?” 

Tom glanced up again. Why the hell would he know who this boy was?! He pulled the parchment and quill closer and wrote, hesitantly.

“Does professor Dumbledore know you’re here? He told me I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone without his express permission.”

A stinging hex swiped across his cheek. He flinched. Pain... again... It was so strange how even pain was bliss now. Any sensation was better than that bland continual emptiness.

He let his eyes drift up to the other boy’s lips again and offered a small smile. This seemed to disturb the boy intensely. He flicked off a much harder hex. It sliced into his jaw and he knew it was a cutting hex of some description because red drizzled out and dripped onto the sheets.   
Tom looked at the blood fascinated. A while since he’d seen any of the brilliant red liquid. 

“Answer the questions, riddle!” the boy hissed, preparing to hex him again. 

“Harry!” a female voice hissed in a chastising half whisper. 

Tom looked up, his eyes roving around the room frantically. Someone else was here. He’d missed them completely. Were they disillusioned? He hadn’t felt someone else here... Salazar! Was he losing the ability to sense magic now too?! 

“Stop it!” the unseen female voice berated. “Look, you just heard him. Professor Dumbledore told him not to talk to anyone. Don’t force him to disobey already! We can just come back tomorrow after we’ve spoken to the professor.” 

He tried to locate the source of the voice making a mental note that the boy who had hexed him was called ‘Harry.’ He’d have to repay the hexes to ‘Harry’ one day. 

“You have to be joking” the boy growled back. “He’s a nasty little lying snake! Dumbledore didn’t tell him anything of the sort – you heard him while he was here.”   
“Even if he had – Tom Riddle never did anything because Dumbledore told him to. It’s just an excuse to avoid answering questions. - This isn’t something I’m willing to ‘wait and see’ on, – this is bloody Tom Riddle here. In the flesh.”   
“I recognise him. It’s HIM.”   
“Even if he does look like a firstie”.   
“I want to know how the bloody hell he got here. There’s no way I’m closing my eyes and sleeping, knowing he’s in the castle. You have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”

Ok... the boy wasn’t going to go away. Tom could see that now. And he had no way of calling for Dumbledore. He couldn’t even speak to summon a house elf, not that he imagined they would respond to him. Dumbledore would have made sure they couldn’t. The man didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. 

“Fine” he wrote on the parchment. 

“I was 14 when I was put into a diary horcrux. Dumbledore brought me back. What else do you want to know?!”

The boy looked appalled. 

“Another diary?! You’ve got to be kidding! You made a horcrux at...at fourteen?!!..What the fuck is wrong with you, you twisted little bastard?!”

Tom blinked slowly. Another. Therefore he had gone ahead and made the other one he had talked about making...despite his own warnings. And somehow this boy was aware of that.   
It must have been activated in the meantime somehow. 

Maybe he was wrong... maybe his primary self wasn’t alive now then. His eyes slid back to the older boy.

“Obviously... I don’t know anything about another diary. The one I was in was the first horcrux I made.  
It was an...experiment... it didn’t work as I had thought it would.   
I tried to tell my other self not to make another one... tried to tell him to get me out.   
As you see – I ignored my own warnings and pleas.   
Anything else you might have against me would be after my time.”

The green eyed boy raised his wand again and tom recognised the look in his eyes immediately. That determined resolution. There was murder in those dazzling green orbs. 

He was about to react to the threat when suddenly there was a flurry of movement directly in front of him and a form seemed to unfold itself out of the air. It pressed back against him and he got a face full of bushy curly hair. 

“NO!! HARRY!! STOP!!!” the girl’s voice cried. 

There was a crash from the other side of the room suddenly. 

He was trying to lean away to see what was going on... but part of him didn’t really want to..   
This was the first human contact he’d had in ...well... he hadn’t really had very much before the diary either. People didn’t tend to dare to try to touch him.   
He was a bit stunned, to tell the truth.   
And whoever the girl was, her hair smelled of peaches.

He let himself take a single deep breath of it and then pulled away, leaning back and sliding out of the bed quickly, taking cover. 

“MIONE!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!! I ALMOST BLOODY-...” 

“NO HARRY – WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO DO TO HIM?! FROM THE LOOKS OF THE TABLE YOU WERE TRYING TO KILL HIM!!   
Damn it!! He’s FOURTEEN! He hasn’t done anything yet. He hasn’t even been provocative since you started talking to him even when you bloody hexed him for nothing. What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

Tom peered over the edge of the bed from his vantage point pressed against the bedside table. 

He could see the back of the girl who had leapt in front of him. She cut a slender figure... probably in her sixth or seventh year like the boy...harry. Her hair was a mass of brown curls reaching halfway down her back.   
She glanced over her shoulder at him, displaying an unusual face. She was quite pretty, he thought. If unconventionally so. She had large amber brown eyes that were unusually alert and intelligent and a cute nose that turned up just slightly at the end. 

She saw him hiding on the floor and her features twisted in an expression he recognised only too well.   
Sympathy. Pity.   
He despised that expression... but... he had to admit... it was often very useful. 

He did his best to look shell-shocked and frightened. 

“Oh damn it.” She cursed softly and looked back at the other boy. He caught her glare at ‘Harry’ before she got up and came around the bed, approaching him slowly and carefully. 

“Look... Tom...I...I won’t hurt you. Ok. And I won’t let Harry hurt you either. You can calm down now. You’re safe. I’m...so sorry... that this is your first experience of others after...a long time alone.”

His eyes flicked to hers briefly. He wasn’t certain but he thought there was a very slight twist of calculation in her soothing brown eyes.   
He thought about this. Even if this were all a ploy, it would be wise of him to play along.

He offered her an uncertain smile with a component of hope to it. She seemed pleased. 

“I’ll...help you back into bed. Harry – lower your wand NOW or I swear I’m going to sheath it somewhere nature didn’t intend.” 

Tom smirked faintly, glancing over at ‘harry’ who had blushed slightly and looked peeved.   
He allowed the girl to gently take his arm and help him up, although his natural instinct screamed to pull away and inform her not to take liberties with his person.   
That was not a useful instinct right now. This girl was the ‘good auror’ of the two. He should show her that he welcomed her attentions. 

So he let her help him back into bed. 

She actually tucked him in!   
It was an entirely new and surreal experience for him. 

He took the time to examine her more closely as she leaned over him, tucking in the covers on the far side. She was indeed quite pretty.   
He wondered whether she could be persuaded to be more friendly with him. He’d never experienced sex and over the long long years (they’d felt so much longer than only sixty six) it was one of the things he’d berated himself for the most. How could he risk his existence so lightly without even experiencing the most basic fundamentals of life? 

He leaned in toward her subtly and sniffed lightly again. She smelled amazing. Peaches... oh. Peaches peaches...he’d wanted a peach so badly. 

The girl, the boy had called her...Mione (?), stiffened and looked at him in surprise, catching him in the act. Her eyes seemed to goggle for a moment and then flicked away in the direction of the boy ‘harry’ as if worried that he might have seen. 

He apparently hadn’t. 

Tom offered her a tiny secretive smile, knowing that she wouldn’t say a word, for fear of what the other boy might do if he knew.

He leaned back into the pillows and watched her withdraw with that thoughtful, slightly confused look on her face. He looked back over at the other boy, momentarily ignoring the previous command to avoid making eye contact and taking the opportunity to look into the striking eyes that were narrowed at him suspiciously.   
It was a pity that this boy hated him so much. He was... perhaps even more attractive than the girl and...well... tom’s own natural preferences tended to lean slightly more in favour of the masculine than the feminine.   
He would of course sample both sexes at the earliest opportunity, simply for the intrinsic value of the experience. 

Looking about for the parchment, the girl seemed to recognise what he wanted and bent to retrieve the parchment and quill from the floor, passing it to him wordlessly. He pulled it close and wrote with more care than before

“He’s Harry and you are ...Mione?”

The girl glanced at his writing and looked at him with an unreadable expression 

“Hermione...” she said quietly. “I’m Hermione. You should probably sleep now. Come on harry. We should go.”

He was musing on how unusual her name was when she mentioned leaving. Turning quickly back to the parchment he scrawled hurriedly 

“I’m not sure I can sleep. I...don’t know how anymore. I haven’t slept in...a long time. Please stay!” 

‘Hermione’ looked unsure, her forehead furrowing as she looked over at ‘harry’ who seemed annoyed, although Tom couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed at her suggestion they leave or his request that she stay.

“Harry... We’re not supposed to be here at all.You said you just wanted to see. We’ve seen. Come on. We have to go now!”

Disappointed, he looked away. The girl ‘Hermione’ didn’t want to stay here with him. He’d unsettled her already.   
He sighed and turned his head away, looking over toward the tall thin windows at the end of the infirmary. Some kind of blocking charm had been applied to them. Otherwise he should be able to see the night sky and stars now. He’d spent enough nights in the infirmary in his first year to know that. 

“You go, Mione.” Harry said with a slightly threatening undertone.   
“It seems that...Tom... doesn’t want to be alone. I’ll keep him company.” 

Tom rolled his eyes and turned in the bed away from Harry, curling up and closing his eyes.

“Harry... please?”

The tone in her voice alerted tom to something else about this pair. No matter how stern and demanding the girl might have sounded before – in whatever way these two were connected – the boy ‘harry’ was definitely in charge. The note of pleading was one which he’d heard Abraxas use on him before when he’d insisted upon some slightly risky course of action that the blonde was uncomfortable with.   
He wondered whether ‘harry’ and ‘Hermione’ were dating.   
He didn’t really have any way of knowing. It had been so long since he’d heard people speaking; seen couples and friends interact. He supposed it was possible. 

He lay still and tried to slow his breathing. 

After a long time he finally heard the boy mutter. “Yeah... ok... fine. We’ll go.” 

He listened to the sounds of them moving for a moment, and then there was silence..When he looked up, the room seemed to be empty. The doors hadn’t opened and he really wondered how the hell they’d done that.

 

He lay for a very long time thinking. 

Sixty six years... He was sixty six years old.   
In some ways he felt much older.   
Yet... his own face in the bathroom belied that. For fifty years or so he’d looked at a child’s face in the mirror and a child was what everyone else would see when they looked upon him.   
Except perhaps Dumbledore. He mustn’t underestimate that old goat.   
And the boy with the Avada eyes... Harry. Harry didn’t think of him as a harmless child either. 

He wondered what his other self (selves?) might be doing. 

Dumbledore’s reaction had strongly suggested that he was out there somewhere and apparently constituted a serious problem for the old wizard – hence why he had stipulated that tom would be resurrected only if he accepted being a dog on a short leash and answering any questions Dumbledore might have.

He assumed he was soon enough to be used to try to anticipate his other self’s actions. Or something along those lines. He wasn’t certain whether he really cared too greatly either way.   
It was...himself obviously... and thus it had probably only acted as he himself would also have acted in its place – but that did not excuse the last fifty miserable years.   
Well... perhaps it did... but he was angry and wished to punish the one responsible for his torment... Which was himself obviously...   
He sighed.   
Perhaps it would simply be best to try to find out what had happened in the interim.   
Perhaps there was a valid reason for leaving him in his prison.   
He would inform himself as much as he was able as to the events of the last fifty years and then he would make his choice where he stood regarding his other self. 

At present it would probably be counterproductive, as Dumbledore had said, to think about it overtly. He likely could not escape Hogwarts, had no idea where his other self might be and no wand. 

Moreover to think about this matter too much would only lead to an increase in the restrictions placed upon him.   
He hadn’t needed to occlude in too long and Dumbledore seemed to be far better at legilimency than ever before. Better to put his other self out of his mind altogether for the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews/comments always appreciated and will receive a response

The sudden glaring brightness of the room startled him out of his meditative stupor. 

He blinked. 

Dumbledore. He’d dispelled the spells shielding the windows.   
Inwardly tom groaned. Starting the day to Dumbledore’s twinkle was never a good thing. 

There was another man behind him.   
A tall dour raven of a wizard was framed in the doorway where he had stopped dead.   
He was looking at tom as if he were some kind of impossible abomination. 

“Albus... you failed to mention the age of the boy.” He growled low, as all trace of his internal disorder was smoothly wiped from his face. 

Professor Dumbledore had a slight smile on his face. “So I did, Severus. My mistake. I did not think it particularly relevant. Tom is fourteen.” 

Tom watched the absence of expression waver on the wizard ‘Severus’ face as he digested that small fact. 

“Now then Tom. How did you sleep?” Dumbledore prompted him. He shifted his gaze from the twin black onyxes which were fixated on a point inches away from his eyes. The twinkling sky blue gaze pinned him and he could feel a vaguely uncomfortable fluttering or shifting in his mind. Legilimency.   
He struggled and managed to look away but the sensation continued nonetheless. It was a horrible feeling to realise that his mind was lying defenceless in Albus Dumbledore’s hands. He determined he would spend all his time in the foreseeable future compartmentalising and building defences for his mind.   
“I...don’t believe I slept, Professor” he answered politely. “I closed my eyes... but I could not remember how to do it.”   
The sensation in his head stopped and he risked a glance at the ancient wizard. Dumbledore looked troubled. “Yes... well... I’m sure you will sleep when your body requires it” he answered, however it seemed to tom that his mind was on something else.

“Tom – I would like Professor Snape to carry out several diagnostic spells upon you. Normally you would be treated by the current mediwitch Madame Pomfrey however for the moment it would be best to keep the news of your arrival to a minimum. To this end... after Professor Snape has examined you, you will move to the quarters I have prepared for you.” 

Tom maintained a polite neutral mien however inwardly he was frowning and trying not to think about the matter that was preoccupying him.   
He had the strangest sensation right now.   
He’d had something like it last night for a while but it had come and gone.   
Now it was back... but not the same. It was like a faint tingling in his head. He wondered whether his other self might have realised he had been resurrected and be trying to establish contact with him. 

Struggling with skills he hadn’t had to use in four lifetimes, he firmly buried the awareness of the sensation in the deepest corner of his mind and ignored it. 

The hook-nosed wizard approached him warily as if he were a hissing cobra and stopped more than two metres away to cast the spells.

Tom suppressed the observation that the strange feeling increased when he came nearer and sat placidly while different colours were projected around him. He read them absently. He was perfectly healthy. He was incontrovertibly fourteen years old. He was virginal. His magical reserves were... (He blinked)... far greater than they had been before he had been placed in the diary! They were impressive for an adult wizard! Interesting! 

He wondered whether his magic registered that he was sixty six years old, whether it was somehow an effect of being a horcrux or whether he was in some manner connected to his primary self (and potentially other soul fragments with individual magical stores)

The other two wizards seemed quite perturbed by the result. He watched with a carefully curious expression as ‘professor Snape’ ran the diagnostic spell three times and then exchanged a tight lipped look with Dumbledore.   
Tom considered it might be disingenuous to enquire what the spell was for and so said nothing.   
No further diagnostics were cast however. With a minimum of umming and ahing, he was assisted out of bed and into the floo. 

 

The room into which he emerged, spinning and managing to maintain his balance, was far more opulent than he had expected. He seemed to be in a large...lounge? Study? It was certainly smaller than the house common rooms, but far larger than anything a student would have. 

A small suite of brown leather furniture curled around the large carved stone fireplace he had just stepped out of. 

His mind put the pieces together as he looked around the room.   
Two desks on opposite sides. A tall window over each. The sun streamed in on both sides. Each desk was flanked by large bookshelves that spanned much of the wall.   
One stained glass panel over the right desk displayed a roaring lion...while that over the left desk showed a slithering serpent. There were tapestries depicting lions, serpents, eagles and badgers... turning and glancing behind he noted that the fireplace was carved with the emblems of all four houses. .   
He was in the head boy and girl’s rooms. 

Why would Dumbledore bring him here?! This was to be his...quarters? Were there no head boy and girl in this era?   
Or... perhaps merely no head boy? The desk on the right side was obviously occupied. Books were neatly stacked upon it. A writing set... parchments. That on the left had been cleared. 

Inwardly he smirked. Whoever the head boy was, he was almost certainly quite irate at present. 

Professor Snape stepped out of the floo behind him, his expression fairly radiating disapproval at the room. He stepped away from tom quickly, keeping his hand on his wand.   
The man was...frightened of him, he realised.   
He was truly quite concerned that tom might at any second attack, wandless or not, and what’s more – best him.

Filing that little piece of information away he stepped further into the room, walking around the sofa and trailing his fingertips over its surface. Leather. Soft.. cool.. thick.. rich.. He’d been drawn to the diary because of this precise sensation on his fingers. It was very pleasant. 

Beyond the sofa there was a large round ornate rug on the floor which looked like a complex intertwining mandala of green and red Celtic knot patterns. It was thick and plushy against his bare feet when he stepped into it, closing his eyes and allowing the sensations to seduce him for a moment. 

The flare and hiss of Dumbledore entering the room caused him to turn and open his eyes. 

The old man’s face was bright and jovial as ever. That expression had always infuriated him. “Well then... I see that you have recognised where you are to be placed.   
Another student has...voluntarily relinquished his claim to the head boy suite – and therefore you will be-“ 

There was a snort from professor Snape. “Voluntarily... Albus... really?!” 

Dumbledore ignored the growl and continued unconcerned “- staying with the current head girl.   
I expect you to make every effort to befriend her Tom. She is a student, in some ways, after your own heart. She is also the most gifted student this school has seen since your own graduation. Her name is Hermione.”  
He watched the black eyes of the other man, currently serving as his barometer for Dumbledore’s smudging of the truth, flicker almost imperceptibly. 

“I believe she is likely still sleeping; however I’m certain you will meet her in another hour. She will be rising for classes.” Dumbledore paused   
“I confess I am not entirely certain what to do with you for the moment. I doubt that you would derive much benefit from classes and it would be best not to provoke too many questions about you from the students. I shall think on it.”   
“Perhaps you might consider whether there are any areas in which you might like to undertake research. If I approve of them, I may provide you with resources.” 

The white bearded old fox smiled magnanimously.

“Your room is up the stairs to the left. If you would like to make yourself comfortable... perhaps shower or bathe... a house elf should be bringing along some suitable clothes for you shortly.   
I do not expect you to remain in pyjamas constantly and... As you will likely not be leaving these rooms, there is little reason to require you to dress in uniform.” 

Tom caught only the part about not leaving the rooms. A small fragment of his heart dropped. He’d gone from an empty world to a two room prison cell apparently. Wonderful. 

Still at least he would be able to eat... shower...perhaps eventually he might sleep. And he would be trapped in his little cell with the rather interesting peach scented girl from last night,   
..unless Hermione was inexplicably a common name in the future. It seemed unlikely however.

That would at least provide entertainment for a while. He would see what might be done to persuade Dumbledore to relax his restrictions in time. 

Nodding respectfully to the old goat he started to turn away to go upstairs. 

“Oh... Tom. I had almost forgotten. If you would come here for a moment please.”   
He froze and turned on the ball of his foot. He’d actually been expecting that. Dumbledore always did that. He would throw out the prospect of leaving or winning or whatever one happened to be wanting at that moment and then just as one tried to grasp the offered path, he would add an addendum in the form of ‘oh... before you x. Or oh... I had almost forgotten. Something along those lines and then there would be the barbed hook of whatever it was one wished to avoid.   
It was one of his more irritating mannerisms. 

Tom maintained a resolutely neutral expression as he padded closer to the man, looking him right in the beard. 

“I had almost forgotten a certain item of jewellery I wished to present you with. If you would...” 

Dumbledore drew out a necklace from his pocket. Tom could practically taste the binding charms all over it.   
Irritating old bastard.   
It was impossible to detect how many different spells were placed upon the simple silver chain and carved onyx bead, because they were layered and seemed to blend, but he was certain that there was no way he would be getting around allowing the old wizard to put it on him.   
And of course... it was generally to be expected that any enchanted necklace one allowed another witch or wizard to fasten upon one’s neck would be unlikely to be removable by one’s own hand.   
It was a standard with all jewellery enchanted to bind the wearer.

He bowed his head and allowed the chain to be fastened around his throat, gritting his teeth.   
He was calming his mind... meditating almost... because to allow his true emotion to flare at this moment would be...unwise. He had been capable of wandless magic when angry before entering the diary. Now...well... his magic was considerably more powerful.   
He did not wish to put any ideas in the old man’s head about binding that too. 

“There.” Dumbledore pronounced, affixing the necklace with an air of satisfaction. 

Tom raised his head and glanced up at the pale twinkling eyes, only once, before starting to turn away again.   
“Tom...” Dumbledore started with a voice that sounded almost kindly. He paused and half turned, but did not look him in the face. 

“I realise that it has perhaps been a while since you last spoke... however I would like to have a conversation with you. I expect you to...find your voice... by the afternoon.”   
“We will not talk at great length, do not be concerned... but I think it best that you return to speaking rather than writing. You are not mute. The diagnostic spells show no damage to your vocal chords. You must simply take some time by yourself to get used to speaking once again.” 

Tom swallowed and nodded once, finally, turning away again and leaving the two wizards behind him as he climbed the stairs up to what was going to be his room. 

He heard the floo flare as he placed his hand on the door handle. It flared silver for a moment and then unlocked. 

 

The room inside exceeded all expectations of a head boy’s room. He wondered whether he had become head boy in the past and hoped to hell that he had. 

The room was gorgeous.   
It had a vaguely octagonal shape, dominated by two features in particular. 

The first were great floor to ceiling mullioned windows covering two entire walls of the octagon and crowned with a modest balcony on one wall.   
The view looked out over the black lake and forbidden forest. It was spectacular and bathed the entire room in soft morning light. 

The second dominant feature was the bed. It was a double. In fact it looked bigger than a regular double bed. He’d never actually slept in a double bed. The largest bed he’d ever been in had been his single bed in the Slytherin dorms.   
This bed was vast and it lacked a canopy. It had short posts carved with serpents which wound around the wooden headboard also.

It was...exquisite. 

The bed was laid with forest green silk covers. He found himself drawn toward it as if pulled on strings.   
His fingertips traced the waxy smooth corrugations of the carved posts, trailed down and slid over the covers. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t actually delighted to be trapped in these rooms. He was sure that his current awe would pass shortly. 

His eye drifted around the rest of the room.   
A large polished wood wardrobe which seemed to match the bed... a chest of drawers... a mirror... a small fireplace... and over on the wall opposite the balcony, a door. 

Standing quickly he paced over to the door, investigating. 

He found himself looking ahead at another identical door. In between the two was a white bathroom.   
Large was an understatement.   
A long bench with two sinks and an ornate antique silver framed mirror over each offered space for toiletries (and the appalling proliferation of bottles and potions and objects he couldn’t identify advertised that...Hermione.. was putting her side to use.) 

Closest to his room there was a large shower with glass walls. A panel on the wall inside presented a row of small silver buttons. He frowned at it curiously.   
Beyond the shower in the centre of the room there was a bath which was easily as large as his bed in the Slytherin dorm. It could have held four, comfortably. It was partially sunken into the floor and again, offered a confusing array of buttons and spigots in one corner.   
On the far side of the bath there was a small partition, behind which there was a toilet. 

He glanced again at the other door. Beyond that was Hermione’s room, obviously. He crept over to it cautiously, listening but hearing nothing.   
He was tempted to enter but that would obviously be a bad idea. Instead he twisted the locking mechanism and turned away, stripping off his pyjamas and discarding them in the middle of the room. 

He decided upon a shower. 

Fiddling with the buttons he managed to get water of a tolerable temperature to emerge from a relatively normal looking shower head and stepped inside. He couldn’t suppress the gasp of pure pleasure at the sensation of the hot water all over his skin. It was beyond wonderful. It surpassed everything experienced thus far. 

 

He strolled, still dripping from the shower back into his room and inspected the wardrobe.   
True to Dumbledore’s word, they were now populated with clothing.   
It was all rather garish. But, among the red and purple and blue he managed to find some black trousers and a white shirt. 

A faint click informed him that Hermione was now in the bathroom. Turning he was tempted to wandlessly unlock the door and stroll in as if unawares. 

No.   
Perhaps another time. He imagined he could gain a lot of amusement from her over time if he was only careful to prevent her from running squealing to Dumbledore or ‘Harry’.

Instead, flinging open the doors to his balcony he lowered himself to sit on the stone in the sunlight, crossing his legs. The sun was so warm...bright... Everything was so...much more...here. 

Faintly he heard a bird singing. It was a balm. 

Closing his eyes he relaxed his mind again, letting himself slip into that peaceful stasis state that he had spent a significant portion of his most recent years in.   
He could feel his magic thrumming around him gently... and he could feel all the other magic too. The castle was so bright... but there were so very many dots... blips of further brightness within it... all around. 

He felt a faint tingle at the back of his mind again but dismissed it as he allowed his perception to drift and distance itself from conscious thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/reviews welcome and will receive a response

“Tom!” Dumbledore’s voice was sharp and exasperated. 

He reeled his mind back in with some difficulty, shifting his gaze to the figure suddenly standing before him, leaning down and looking concerned. Blinking he offered a questioning expression. 

“I have been calling you for several minutes, Tom. You did not respond when I knocked. Are you quite well?! What exactly were you doing?!” 

He frowned up at the old wizard, thinking clearly “meditating.” 

Dumbledore’s face tightened. “I take it you have not yet begun to speak then.” 

If he refused to talk with Dumbledore, the irritating man would undoubtedly continue to plunder his mind freely.   
Tom sighed and forced himself to reply, his voice no more than a whisper. “I can speak.” 

Dumbledore looked relieved. “Ah. That is good news then.”   
“Perhaps you might come inside and we can have a chat. I’ll have the elves bring tea and biscuits.   
I had hoped you might have summoned them and asked them for breakfast. Had I realised you would not, I would have ordered something for you before I left.” 

Largely on general principles, Tom rose and followed him. Dumbledore’s suggestions had never truly been suggestions for as long as he had known the man. And now... now that he was a leashed prisoner here, there would be little point in unnecessarily aggravating the wizard. 

He seated himself willingly in the large comfortable chairs by the fire in the head common room. “Now then... perhaps we might start with the details of how you came to create the horcrux in the first place” Dumbledore said, smiling in a despicably kindly-old-man manner. 

When it seemed that an answer was fully expected and silence would not put the goat off, Tom grit his teeth and murmured softly. “I simply wanted more time to learn... More time to discover things... Immortality seemed like the best solution. ...Magic most foule mentioned the name and piqued my interest but told nothing else”  
“I eventually found more details in Bent, Whitherstone, Gorlash and Herpo’s own lost manuscript.”  
“I thought if I used the right object...charmed in the right way... it might be able to self resurrect; might be sentient. ...But...I made an error.” 

He hesitated and then amended “Several errors.” 

“The idea was flawed to begin with. Not even Herpo would have been masochistic enough to trap their mind in a horcrux.” 

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “No...I don’t believe he would have. Of course... Herpo was nearing two hundred when he created the spell, Tom. One gains a certain...perspective... with time. I’m certain you’ve noticed. Your logic was that of a highly intelligent fourteen year old wizard.” 

“I suppose... In a certain sense it is an impressive achievement to have successfully completed such an advanced piece of magic while so young. That is not to say that it was a commendable act. No... I am quite aware of the cost involved. I would not have thought you capable of murder in your fourth year Tom... I shudder to imagine what else might have escaped my attention.” 

Tom just managed to suppress the small smirk. “Thank you.” he replied softly and fiddled with the material of his trousers in a partially affected nervous manner. 

“Do you think...sir...perhaps... you might...” 

“Tell you about what occurred since you were placed in the horcrux, tom?”   
“No. Not quite yet. I would like to speak about several other matters first. - Who was your victim, tom? How did you murder him? Tell me about the event and the casting.” 

Sighing, tom told him. The afternoon dragged by in a wash of probing questions. His tea was ignored. He had never been able to quite persuade himself to eat or drink anything offered by Dumbledore. One of the older Slytherins had informed him in his first year that the old man had been known to dose sweets and drinks with anything from calming potions to veritaserum. 

 

By the time Dumbledore finally stated that tom looked quite tired and should rest before they continued their conversation, it was almost time for dinner and tom had told him all about the vagrant in the shrieking shack, the construction of the diary, the spells he had used, the libraries and acquaintances he had gained this information from and the environment within the diary.   
In great detail.   
He did not mention anything of the chamber of secrets although Dumbledore had seemed to hint several times. 

If the man had come flat out and demanded the information, tom would have refused. The chamber was his. Not Dumbledore’s... never... ever... Dumbledore’s.   
If it came out that Slytherin had a library in the chamber, Dumbledore would have him down there opening it and providing him the contents before he could blink, he was certain.

Salazar Slytherin would revolve in his crypt if Albus Dumbledore ever laid hands on his most precious tomes. 

It was unlikely Dumbledore would derive much use from the tomes as they were predominantly written in parseltongue, however he wouldn’t put it past the man to find a way around that. If the worst came to the worst – he’d likely force tom to translate them. No. That could not be allowed to happen. 

 

He lay back in the chair massaging his temples after Dumbledore had departed through the floo. He was working up the motivation to take a diagnostic look at the necklace... the dog collar...Dumbledore had put on him.   
Just at the moment he was not feeling quite up to it however... and he was experiencing a strange uncomfortable sensation in his abdomen. He suspected it might be hunger. 

He cracked an eye when the outer door to the common room opened and closed it again wearily when the curly haired girl from the previous night froze and gasped in the doorway.   
Hadn’t she known he would be here? Dumbledore would have told her, no doubt.   
Her reaction was almost comical in its extremity. 

He heard the door close quietly. 

“h..hello.”   
The voice drifted across the length of the room, tremulous and uncertain. 

He heard her take a couple of halting steps closer and sighed, opening his eyes and removing his fingers from his temples. He turned his head and gifted her with a polite smile.   
He’d practiced this smile in front of the mirror years before until it had just the right amount of earnest, friendly vivre to woo all his professor’s favour. 

‘Hermione’ swallowed and froze in place. He tried a soft “hello Hermione” and this seemed to disturb the girl even more if anything. She seemed intensely suspicious.

Sighing, he turned away again. 

“Do you wish to use the common room?” he asked after a moment. “I can leave if you would like.” 

The slight wounded despondency had the desired effect. She took another few steps closer. 

“er... No... No its quite alright...t-Tom... This is your room too.” 

She shuffled her bag off her shoulder and held it in front of her defensively. 

“I...usually study in the evenings before rounds anyway so... I won’t be in your way much.”   
Her phrasing was pleasantly deferential, he noted. Not that he wouldn’t be in her way, but that she wouldn’t be in his. 

“What are you studying?” 

She seemed to flounder for a moment at the question and managed to get out that she was taking everything except divination, and that she’d be working on advanced transfig and runes tonight. 

He sat up a little more. Those were two of his best subjects before the diary. He was about to ask whether he might join her when she babbled something unintelligible and hurried off to her room. 

 

When she returned after what must have been at least an hour, he had just finished his meal. It had consisted of a very small portion of the roast chicken and roast vegetables that the other students had had in the great hall, along with a tall glass of orange juice.   
He hadn’t managed to eat much of it although it had tasted wonderful;   
the act of chewing and swallowing was delightful. However the sensation of the food in his belly was vaguely unpleasant. 

He had just had an elf remove the half eaten repast when the door at the top of the stairs had opened and Hermione had returned. She was still wearing her uniform and looked like someone trying very hard to give the impression of nonchalance.

He watched her move to the desk and order her things, which were likely already perfectly sufficiently ordered.   
She had her back to him and it was almost possible to detect the way she was steeling herself to show that she was not on her guard around him. 

Smirking, he waved a subtle wandless silencing charm over his shoes and crept over to stand behind and slightly to the side of her. 

“May I-“ 

he got no further. She shrieked and spun in shock, her eyes wide and seemingly expecting something on a par with evisceration. It was extraordinarily satisfying to watch.   
He wondered whether she was frightened of him, knowing that he had murdered and practiced the dark arts, or whether it might not be his other version that she truly feared. 

“I’m sorry...” he offered apologetically. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I only wanted to ask whether I might join you while you study.” The rosebud lips parted and she sputtered slightly, apparently torn between the polite and the desirable response.   
He could see she wanted to refuse and find some reason to retreat to her room again. 

“It’s only...” he hesitated and bit the corner of his lip in a show of adolescent insecurity   
“-I don’t have much to do... and I’d be quite interested in what is taught in the seventh year. I never had the chance to experience it.” 

The girl seemed to collect herself. As he watched the various emotions flicker across her face he decided he needed to work on legilimency. It would be so convenient to simply read what was occurring beneath the surface. 

“Thats...um...ok. You can sit with me while I work if you like. I...I’m not very good though... you’ll find it very simple I suppose.”   
Again this deference. Was she trying to flatter him? He tilted his head and let the comment slide.

“I’ll just get a chair then, shall I” he remarked, wondering whether it might prompt her to... apparently yes. Hermione flicked out a wand at the other chair across the room summoning it for him.   
He intercepted it, pleased at the automatic manner in which she’d catered to him... served him. This could be fostered.   
If the girl’s intimidation was not merely fear but also admiration based, it could be very useful indeed. 

“Thank you.” He praised. “It is frustrating to think that my wand is likely gone forever. So many things I took for granted will be impossible now.” 

It was a lie, of course. Most things he could do with a wand he could now perform equally well wandlessly – but it would be a dangerous idea to allow anyone else to know that. 

He seated himself, looking up at her with wide eyes. “I suppose Professor Dumbledore will have me work on something theoretical for him.”   
Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly. “For him? What? He’s going to let you work on magic?”   
It was difficult to measure out the appropriate amount of affront to put into his expression. Hermione seemed to backpedal. “I...didn’t mean that the way it sounded.   
He shrugged and looked away, projecting an air of despondency. 

After a moment she sat down in the chair next to him and arranged her parchment and quill, opening her textbook and placing it between them both. He glanced at it curiously.   
She was working on weight/density manipulations by constant form.   
It was not basic by any means... at least not for the average student.   
He had mastered it before the diary. Perhaps he might offer her help at some point? 

The quiet scritch of her quill began. It seemed she was writing a brief report on what had been covered in class. He exercised patience and tried not to disturb her thoughts. Her face assumed a peculiar focussed expression when she was writing. It improved her rather sharp features considerably. 

When she had completed the report, to judge by the lightening of her eyes and the small smile of satisfaction, he took the opportunity to draw her attention back to him once again.

“I wanted to thank you.” He murmured softly. She looked over as if suddenly remembering that he was there and her posture stiffened. 

“Thank me? Why?” 

He tilted his head curiously. “Yes... thank you. I think your...friend? ..might have seriously hurt me last night if you had not intervened.”   
She looked at him with a peculiar mix of relief and dubiousness.   
His interest ramped up significantly. She had expected something else.   
What else might Hermione have expected?   
The connections sparked in his mind. He glanced down at her handwriting. It was familiar even though it was not the same. Her writing on the page was far neater. It flowed... it appeared more confident.   
Had she perhaps used her left hand when she wrote in the diary? 

“You’re welcome” the girl was saying. “I didn’t expect Harry to react quite that extremely. He-“ she broke off and swallowed. “Well... he’s...usually more reserved. He doesn’t ever behave like that.”

That was useful information. The idea that ‘Harry’ was not usually an aggressive borderline sadistic individual strongly suggested that he had some extraordinary reason to be so with Tom. 

“Why does he hate me?” he asked quietly. 

The girl bit her lip. He found his eye drawn to it uncontrollably. He wanted to tug her lip free with his thumb and taste it. 

“Its...not exactly you he hates” Hermione said, breaking the spell. 

Blinking he decided he was going to have her. Irrespective the complications – Hermione would belong to him soon. This girl had found him... had obviously realised what the diary was immediately. It was due to her intelligence and will that he was free   
– or at least... more favourably imprisoned. 

With her. 

Another might have - probably had - ignored the diary entirely, not realising what it was. Many who might have recognised it would likely have sought to destroy it. 

For whatever reason, Hermione was seemingly not ill disposed toward him.   
He wondered whether she was still virginal. He knew any number of blood magic spells that made use of the act of breaking the maidenhead. 

“er... I have to read for runes now.” Hermione hushed nervously.   
He made a go ahead gesture and leaned back in his seat to watch her.   
“..It could take a while” she added, all but spelling out ‘stop looking at me now’   
He shrugged again. She opened the book and nervously began to read...decipher... the thick text, her tight expression betraying her ongoing awareness of his attention. 

“Why did you save me?” he asked softly. 

Hermione flinched and started with a word he could tell was going to be ‘Harry-‘ 

He shook his head. “I recognise your handwriting. You found me. Why did you choose to save me?” 

The conflicted guilty glimmer that flashed through her eyes disappointed but did not surprise him. She thought to use him to some end. But...perhaps it had not been her only thought. The mere presence of guilt now was actually encouraging. 

He listened to her excuses about morally bound to report her finding to Dumbledore and that she had not been the one to choose to save him. 

Ignoring it all and laying that particular thread aside for the moment he asked “The boy... from last night... Harry. Are you and he dating?” 

The way her mouth formed a perfect little O of shock was gratifying. If they had been dating she would have been somewhat less horrified.   
“No!” she managed, sounding like she couldn’t believe he’d even ask. “Someone else then?” he probed immediately.   
The frown was unmistakeably a yes to him. 

Yes... she was dating another wizard. Asking who would not be of any use since he could not presently leave this place and knew no one here. She would not answer anyway.   
It hardly mattered. It was sufficient to learn that she was already...spoken for... and that he would need to remove this competitor if he wished to have her.

She was retorting furiously “I don’t see what business-“ He displayed a soft, conciliatory smile and stood, cutting her off.   
“Forgive me. It was inexcusably impolite to ask. I was...curious. I will leave you in peace for the evening. I didn’t mean to upset you.”   
He reached his hand as if to place it on her shoulder and then stopped an inch away and withdrew it as if thinking better of the gesture, looking down and turning away. 

He could feel her eyes following him as he crossed the common room and climbed his stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews increase update frequency and will receive a response

He felt it when the other boy entered the common room below. That tingle... the strange little feeling in his mind. He compared it to the feeling of Dumbledore’s legilimency but it was very different.   
It was peculiar that he could feel anything at all at the distance ‘Harry’ would have to be at to be at the door of the common room. Nevertheless... 

Perhaps it was some kind of binding spell? Something that connected that boy and the dark dour professor Snape to him for security?   
Something that reported on his actions?   
That would be possible he realised. He had after all been probing concentratedly at the binding necklace for the last hour and a half. If there were some way of registering his thoughts or movements or the use of magic, it was possible that it had alerted Harry and brought him here to investigate. 

Standing quickly he moved to the door, needing to confirm what that tingle was telling him. 

He opened the door quietly and slipped down the stairs, his eyes on the bookcase as if in search of something to read. 

The flinch and halt was almost entirely artificial.   
The component of it which was not simulated was due to the tableau of Hermione in the comforting arms of a tall red headed boy. 

Harry was standing several steps away and looking at Tom with that hateful expression again, his wand drawn. 

The other two only noticed he was there from the reaction of their friend.   
He looked between the three of them. The red head was now also fixing him with a murderous glare and had released Hermione to draw his own wand. 

“Harry! Ron! Stop!” Hermione cried, seeing where the two boy’s intents were focused.   
Ron was his name then. Ron was her beau.   
Tom wondered idly whether she had given herself to him. Their embrace had seemed quite chaste. Of course there were pros and cons to chastity. It would be easier to bring her to fall if she had already given herself to other wizards... but if she were virginal, it would be possible to possess her fully.   
It could be very useful to have the dedicated service of what Albus Dumbledore termed the greatest mind to pass through Hogwarts since his own graduation. 

Since the two boys were ignoring her and the redhead had actually dared to raise his wand now, Tom thought he had better inject some reason here. 

“I apologise” he offered neutrally. “I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d read. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He turned about to return to his room. 

“That’s Voldemort?!” the voice in the room he didn’t know spat incredulously, blatantly ignoring the “Ron ! NO!!..Be quiet” that his girlfriend was urging.   
“It's a little kid. I thought he’d be...bigger... or something... or more like the ferret at least.” 

Tom smirked inwardly, thanking the twit. Voldemort. It seemed that his aims had indeed come to some fruition. That cleared up that question. Hermione feared him because of his other self... his primary self... the avatar he had created and named Lord Voldemort.   
He wondered what he had achieved as Lord Voldemort... what he was doing right now. 

Turning around he met the eyes of the redhead.   
He had narrow priggish eyes of a paler blue than Tom’s own deep royal tones. He was freckled. He was...avoiding meeting Tom’s gaze.   
How wonderful! This one was afraid of him too, despite his bravado. 

Hermione looked unsure what to do and seemed on the brink of leaping between them. 

Walking a step closer, Tom barely noticed the way Harry stiffened and clenched his wand tighter. 

“Why do you call me that? What does it mean?” He asked quizzically. “My name is Tom Riddle. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” 

The redhead snarled and muttered something about it not being any bloody pleasure to meet a slimy murdering bastard like him, before Hermione actually did step in and insist “that’s enough. I’ll speak with you Tomorrow Ron. Harry – it would be better if you both left, don’t you think?” 

The redhead actually whined. “But...Mione!!..” and darted a glance up toward her bedroom. 

The sharp flare of anger Tom felt was easily suppressed. He turned his eyes toward Harry and raised an eyebrow. “So. What... or who’s Voldemort then? Did the other me end up changing his name? Is this somehow a big secret?” 

He took a half step toward the green eyed boy, who raised his wand threateningly.   
It didn’t matter. Tom felt all he needed to know. The tingle grew when he neared the boy.   
He resisted the temptation to probe at it with his mind. 

“Mione’s right, Ron. Come on. We’re leaving.”   
He looked at Hermione seriously. “Are you sure you’re alright here? You can come with us you know.”   
Hermione looked from face to face, uncertain and angry and now embarrassed too. “I’m fine Harry. Tom hasn’t done or...or said anything to deserve this treatment. 

A spell flashed for a moment as Harry pre-emptively silenced Ron who now seemed to be arguing vehemently against this description of Tom’s current threat potential and just desserts. 

“Shut up, mate.” Harry grumbled and backed up slightly, turning, with great will power forcing himself to display his unguarded back, and stalking to the door.   
The redhead followed a moment later, but not before shooting Tom a poisonous glare and mouthing what was probably a choice threat. 

When the door had closed Hermione huffed and sighed, looking conflicted.   
“I’m sorry about that” she commented after a moment. “Ron...well... that is kind of typical for him. Don’t take it personally. He’s a bit of a hothead and doesn’t always think things through.” 

Tom took a step toward her and raised his eyebrows as if surprised.   
“I have to admit he’s not...exactly... the type I imagined you’d gravitate to. But...perhaps I’m missing something about him. He seemed a fairly uncouth and petty fellow.   
Nevertheless... perhaps he is capable of providing other benefits, even if he cannot offer stimulating conversation.” 

He ignored the way she’d turned bright red and seemed to be sputtering again and advanced a few more steps closer   
“-After all.. Why would you pursue a boor if he were not at least sexually proficient?” 

“I do not yet know you (the words.. although I would like to.. seemed to hang unspoken in the air as he moved slowly nearer) but I have observed you to be a highly intelligent and capable witch”   
He watched as she flushed deeper in confused, angry, overwrought frustration and continued   
“Not to mention...quite attractive..” 

Her inadequately hidden disbelief explained all to him. The ‘witch of the generation’ was with the red headed boy because she lacked the self-esteem to realise that he was below her. 

“-and so I’m certain ...Ron... must have...at least...most of the qualities you look for in a partner, whatever they may be. I suppose not every witch desires a partner as capable as herself...” 

He could see the witch was preparing to explode into rage. Any second now. He hurried to get the final lash in. “-then again... Perhaps you simply gave up on looking for one. It is... as they say – lonely at the top. Perhaps you resigned yourself to a world of simplifying your thoughts for the benefit of other weaker minds.”

“SHUT UP!” 

He complied immediately, now only a few steps away. He’d expected more, somehow. She’d looked fit to curse him. But this cold hiss of fury was markedly restrained.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. It’s clearly you that assumes the rest of the world is too slow to notice your manipulations.”   
“My personal life, my friends and possible relationships are none of your concern, Tom.”   
“You can not undermine my confidence in Ron... you won’t succeed in driving a wedge between Harry and myself, no matter what you do. The only reason I haven’t told them about...the little things you’ve done to unnerve me...is because if I did, they’d make sure I was out of here and I am not giving up the head girl’s quarters for you.” 

He smiled and stepped one further step, to the edge of her personal space, delighted at seeing the confidence in her eyes waver suddenly as she retreated a pace auTomatically.   
She was half a head taller than he; He decided he didn’t like that. She should be below him looking up.   
“Is that the only reason?” he inquired curiously. She didn’t reply, but her eyes widened and her lips tightened.   
His smile grew a little as he advanced a tiny step on her again, and again she retreated. 

“You could hex me... I’m unarmed...” he mused aloud. “You could run... I’d almost certainly not chase you... “  
“On the other hand...I haven’t done anything to suggest i’d hurt you...unless challenging your perceptions and complimenting you is to be considered harmful... and after all – you want my help, don’t you?!” 

The moment he said it he knew it to be the truth. Not in the way the girl reacted, which was telling enough, but in the symmetry of it. It fit. Hermione had already retreated so far that she was against the desk looking furtively at the stairs to her room. She was obviously actually considering running. 

He stepped the two steps closer and while she was distracted and startled by his proximity, darted his hand forward, lifting her wand with a pickpocket’s grace.   
It was foolish of her not to have drawn it already. 

He had her fixed in place by her feet on the floor and her hands on the desk behind her before she could blink. 

While she reacted and struggled and snarled, he turned and stepped away a couple of paces, examining the wand he held. It was a light brown shaft of perhaps eleven inches. The wood was striated with lighter lines in a vaguely pleasing pattern.   
It felt sluggish and wRong in his hand although it had obeyed him sufficiently... which suggested to him that it wasn’t a purely light wand – he’d never had any success with any light cores. They were all so much dead wood to him. 

When he turned back to Hermione she flinched back, her eyes darting between his face and her wand.   
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.   
To her credit her voice was steady. 

He moved closer again and placed the wand on the desk three inches to the side of her affixed hand. 

“Well... I’m certainly not going to curse you.” he murmured “But I do think it’s time we spoke bluntly with one another.”  
“Dumbledore does like to varnish the truth. It would be impossible to prevent him from doing so I imagine. ...But I expect...more... from you.” 

As he spoke he moved until he could stand close enough to catch the scent of her hair again.   
It was different. She smelled of apples today. He suppressed the tiny disappointment inside.   
No doubt she had changed it intentionally because she’d become aware that he liked it. 

He noticed she was trembling. Her eyes were a little glassy as thought she were trying not to cry. “Ok...” she answered in a small voice. “What do you want to talk about, Tom?” 

He took a deep breath, letting his head tip back slightly and enjoying her supplicating tone. “Let's begin with...Voldemort.”   
Her eyes darted in slight panic. He decided to put her out of her misery. 

“Lord Voldemort. I am quite aware he is out there somewhere. I should thank him; if I ever meet him – although he left me in the diary to rot...   
if not for him – I highly doubt Dumbledore would have bothered to retrieve me.   
You all would like to use me you see.” He raised a hand and brushed the pads of his fingers over her jaw. She turned her head and flinched away, looking like a spooked animal. 

“You want to use me to get into his head... anticipate his behaviour... perhaps even his past actions.   
I wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to find some way to use me to track him.” 

Hermione was definitely shaking now. “What are you going to do to me?!” she whispered and there was almost a hint of whimper in it. 

He snorted.  
“Are you in pain? We are having a conversation, Hermione. One that I did not believe you would remain still for under other conditions.” 

“Do you concede that Dumbledore placed you here... in such close...proximity...to me-“   
he trailed a fingertip down her side slowly, ignoring her attempts to move away   
“-in order to hopefully...befriend the impressionable fourteen year old and wrap him around your little finger?” 

Her face said it all. He wondered how Dumbledore had phrased it. ‘Oh Hermione.. do you think you might whore   
yourself out to a murderer for information gathering purposes? It would be a big help’ 

He let his hand rest on her hip possessively and raised an eyebrow. 

“yes.” She bit out reluctantly. 

Allowing a small smile to twist his lips again he continued. “I’m certain you must have realised the subtext... the implication.”   
“You are intelligent enough to realise the position the professor urged you into, almost certainly pushed you into through guilt and your oh so Gryffindor sense of honour.” 

Her eyes hardened stonily and she didn’t respond. He reached out and caught one of her soft brown ringlets, wrapping it around a finger, distracted for a moment by how soft it felt.   
Had he ever touched another person in this way? He didn’t think he had.   
It was exciting. Allowable because she was currently entirely at his mercy. 

“I was already interested in you last night, but Dumbledore sold me on the idea this morning when he described you as... i quote...”the greatest mind to pass through Hogwarts since my own graduation”.   
“I think he did it intentionally... don’t you?” 

Her eyes were like windows betraying her surprise. Before she could ask again what he was going to do with her he plunged on. 

“And so I have decided that I will help you. That is to say - I will help YOU. Not Dumbledore or any of the others.”   
This was his play and I rather doubt he will backtrack now, irrespective how you might present the case to him for doing so.” 

“I will spend time with you. Alone.”   
“You were supposed to observe me... learn about me, I assume? Well... your task will be much easier now. Which brings us to the next question.” He smiled as she seemed to steel herself for something even worse. 

“I would like you for to explain to me why you are dating that redhead. Name the reasons.” 

After she’d essentially listed the primary criteria of all Gryffindors and he’d displayed his raised eyebrow scepticism, he asked her what the criteria of her ideal match were exactly. She refused to answer. 

He snorted and turned away for a moment, uncertain how far to push the girl right now.   
He certainly had no intention of attempting to force her into any form of sexual service. No... That would ruin everything later.   
He sighed inwardly. He had the most unwise temptation to taste her lips.   
Glancing back at her thoughtfully... her trembling bottom lip was just begging to be nipped. 

He moved closer once more and leaned in against her. She shook but did not pull away as he slung his arms casually about her waist and spoke softly. 

“You will have to break up with him, you know.”  
He ignored her sudden sharp defiant expression. It was on her lips to shout her refusal. 

“..Oh I am not attempting to force you to do so. I would not dream of doing anything so crude. It’s quite up to you...I’m merely stating a fact.”   
“You will have to end whatever misguided little flirtation you have engaged in with the boy. I am going to require... a lot...in fact I would go so far as to say all of your time outside of your academic responsibilities.” 

“The less often you are here, actively seeking out my company, the less inclined to spend time with you I shall be when you are here and, conversely, the more preoccupied I shall become with the particular charms and binding spells on the doors, floo and this wonderful necklace that Dumbledore gave me.” 

“It is obvious that spending so much time here... alone... with me... and avoiding Ron’s no doubt scintillating company, will cause the poor wretch to become quite distressed.”   
“He does seem the jealous paranoid type to me.”.

“Also..just between the both of us, I rather suspect that...Ron... is not a particularly alert or aware fellow and is quite liable to have an accident if he is in these rooms too often guarding you  
...or Salazar-forbid attempting to threaten me.” 

Hermione was as still as a statue. Even her shaking had stopped.   
He glanced up at the amber eyes that were staring over his shoulder at the round rug, unseeing.   
She looked haunted. 

He smiled. “I see you are accepting the logic of my words, Hermione.”   
Turning his head, he caught the apple fragrance of her hair again, frowning slightly. 

“I would also prefer you to use the peach scent in your hair that you were wearing last night.” 

He had the delight of feeling her shiver and tightened his arms around her marginally, enjoying it. 

The half breathed ‘ok’ was almost inaudible. 

Unwinding his arms from around the slender waist he moved back to scrutinise her expression.   
He wasn’t certain whether she was terrified and attempting to show strength or unaffected and attempting to feign terror. It was intriguing. 

He placed his hand subtly on her wand. “I’m going to have to ask you to give me your honest word not to run off to Dumbledore or anyone else to tell tales of the things that happen between us, Hermione. Otherwise you’ll be forcing me to place you under a geas. I would like to have some secrets from the man.”   
“And so...what we do when we are alone...will be our little secret. Do you understand?” 

The balance on her face had shifted again toward more convincing horror and fear as she nodded slowly. 

“Promise me” he prompted lightly.   
She made the promise. 

He smiled as he felt her wand heat under his hand. 

He wondered whether she knew it. It very rarely happened that another held one’s wand after all and the practice had been abandoned so long ago. Even in his own time one had made wand oaths while holding one’s own wand in hand. 

And that was still necessary for general oaths pertaining to behaviour. 

However, there was another form of wand oath - it was more closely related to the unbreakable oath than the standard wand oath.   
In this form one made the oath to a specific person who held one’s own wand during the casting.

To break such an oath would not render one a squib...necessarily. It would merely place the control over one’s ability to use magic at the whim of the one to whom the oath was made.   
He rather hoped she discounted the magical nature of the promise she’d made and tried to break it. It would be wonderful to have her magic at his disposal to turn on and off like a faucet. 

Sighing he dispelled the fixation charms on her hands and feet and placed the wand back on the desk, stepping away. Hermione did not move, merely watched him warily, as if to risk taking up her wand and hexing him might only provoke greater threat.   
It would, naturally.   
At present he preferred her not to know of his wandless magic, however. 

He gestured magnanimously toward the stairs up to her room and she snatched up the wand and skittered away immediately, fairly pelting up the stairs and slamming the door after her. 

He felt several wards being laid in quick succession


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews increase update frequency and will receive a response

The night was long again. He still could not quite manage to sleep, although he found it dangerously easy to slip into the still meditative state that he had habitually taken in the Diary.   
He wondered whether it was performing the same function.

He roused himself again at three in the morning and turned his attention to the necklace. It was more complex than he grasped. It would be.. difficult... to properly examine it without a wand.   
Of course.. there was a wand only two rooms away, he mused.   
Hermione had raised a number of wards, however he anticipated that he would have greater success dispelling those than achieving significant progress with the necklace this evening. 

He rose and paced to the bathroom, moving closer to the other connecting door warily. The hum of multiple martial wards teased his senses. It seemed that the girl was quite capable..The wards were formidable.

He lowered himself gracefully to sit crosslegged on the floor. This would take some time.. and a fine touch.

It took two thoroughly entertaining hours, in fact.   
He had expected it to take longer, he realised. It was amazing how well he could focus. It seemed like the years...decades.. of unrecordable abstract thought had lent him the ability to hold a multitude of complex ideas in his mind at once.. he could threadle ward strands with hardly more difficulty than it took to juggle runic permutations in his head.   
He unwound the first two interconnected wards at once. The third, which was apparently keyed to her wand, took longer. In the end he reattached the warning strands to the wall, building the webbing carefully and refraining from severing anything before he had firmly anchored it elsewhere.   
When he was finished, he was able to stand and unlock the door with a simple alohamora. 

Within, the room was dark and still. Quiet sounds of regular breathing reassured him that the girl had not woken during his dismantling of her wards.   
He used a charm to improve his night vision. The room sprang into clearer relief. 

She lay on her back, her head tossed to the side, facing away from him. Her hair was spread over her pillow. The blankets were disordered, as if she had been tossing and turning.   
Confirming this, as he watched she wriggled and turned over, curling into a foetal position facing him. He saw that she had curled around her wand, which she held gripped in both hands like some peculiar teddy bear. 

Had he unsettled her so greatly?! 

He cast a wandless silencing charm on his person and moved closer cautiously  
Once or twice the witch stirred and he paused, remaining still, until she settled again.

He approached till he could kneel at the side of her bed.. no more than a half metre away from her. She had her wand clenched tightly, as if she were afraid that he might take it from her again.   
Well..that was reasonable, considering he had every intention of doing so.   
It was already five in the morning. She would be waking soon and he did not have time to waste. 

He whispered a soft somnus charm. Hermione did not so much as hear him place the charm upon her. She seemed to relax, however. In all probability when she woke she would be more rested than she otherwise would have been, he thought to himself as he gently worked the wand loose from her death grip. After he had claimed it he turned and seated himself on the floor, leaning against the end of her bed to examine the necklace.   
As he had expected, the wand was of great use. With Mulliards revealing lattices he could see how painfully intricate the spells on the necklace were. There were many more than he had expected. Perhaps as many as twenty. He couldn’t imagine what Dumbledore might have thought to include beyond tracking and binding charms.. There were far too many layers. Perhaps some were foils.. certainly a great number were probably traps and warning charms. He groaned at the amount of work it would be. This would take ..days.. possibly even weeks if he couldn’t access Hermione’s wand every day. 

He set to work charting the interlinkages, trying to divine the purposes of some of the layers through them.  
it wasn’t for a half hour that he realised that he could be writing this down now. He summoned a piece of parchment and quill from Hermione’s bag and quickly began making notes.

When a tempus confirmed that it was almost seven in the morning he decided that it would be best to return the next evening, rather than risk a confrontation now. Carefully he slipped the wand back into the girl’s clenched fists. She grasped it immediately and seemed to sigh in soft relief.   
He lingered a moment, recognising that it was unwise, but wishing to simply enjoy her presence a small while longer. Lowering himself cautiously to his knees at the side of her bed, he tilted his head to look at her.   
What it might be like to slip into bed next to her? Exactly how panicked and upset might she be if she woke to find him there..  
Very.. Extremely in fact. He was certain.   
He gently brushed a curl from her cheek and sighed.   
In time. In time he would lie beside her whenever he pleased. 

Her lips tempted him again..   
But he wished his first kiss to be with a partner who was not only awake, but desirous of receiving it. He would not steal a kiss from her now. 

He stood again swiftly and retreated back to the bathroom. It took very little effort to replace the wards he had modified and only a small amount more to recast those he’d destroyed. Soon enough he was back in his room, looking about, wondering what to do with himself.

Occlumency.  
That was the most vital item on his internal agenda. If Dumbledore could see what he was attempting with the necklace.. or with Hermione too, for that matter, no doubt his life would become significantly less comfortable in short order.   
If the wizard even suspected he was hiding things from him, he would become quite menacing, Tom suspected. 

Therefore it was insufficient to simply occlude.. he needed to create a more intricate and subtle system of defences against the legilimentic probe.  
He had read a number of books on the subject over the years.. he had not really had much opportunity to put them into practice however. There was a notable dearth of attacking minds in his empty world and occlumency was only trainable under conditions of attack.   
He walked to his bed thoughtfully and, after a moment’s hesitation, disrobed himself and climbed between the soft sheets. It was.. pleasant.. to feel them against him.   
Strange how the smallest things had become pleasure. 

Layers.. Levels.. It was important to design them in such a way that they could not be easily detected.. nor entered.. At best - those entering should not be capable of understanding the information found within.  
It was also vital that he not reveal any sensitive information through their design.. such as the geography of the chamber of secrets. That would be an extraordinarily poor choice of base environment. 

He thought for a while and settled upon the forbidden forest.   
There was so much within it that could be twisted into defense systems.   
So many places to order and hide storage depots.. compartments... ladders and.. of course.. snakes..  
He set to organising his mind.

 

 

Dumbledore knocked politely upon his door several hours lately. This time he was able to rouse himself from the meditative state in which he’d been quietly filing his memories and thoughts around the constructed forbidden forest in his head. He was not up or dressed and was about to respond to this effect when the door opened and the wizard poked his head in impatiently. Tom frowned at him and folded his arms irritably over his bare chest.   
Dumbledore reddened slightly and withdrew again.  
“Pardon me, Tom. I thought you might be caught in a trance once again. I shall wait ..somewhat longer.. in future. If you would be so good as to rise and dress, we shall continue our conversation of yesterday.”

Inwardly Tom groaned.   
Irritating old goat.  
he had not imagined for a second that he would escape a continuation of the polite interrogation he had been subjected to the previous afternoon.. but it annoyed him nonetheless to be so summarily pressed to reveal his most private thoughts and memories to a man he had always loathed.   
He had never managed to sustain gratitude for any significant length of time. 

Grudgingly he pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed. He ignored the clothing he had discarded on the floor by the bed and moved to the bathroom. If Dumbledore wanted to pick his brain again, he could wait until after he had washed and dressed. 

He enjoyed his shower even more than the one he had had yesterday due to the warm glow of the knowledge that Dumbledore was likely sitting irritably downstairs waiting impatiently for him. 

When he finally descended the stairs, he was disappointed to see that the old man was sitting talking quite amiably with Hermione. He strained to prevent the small disapproving glance from reaching his face.  
Hermione seemed much calmer around Dumbledore. She obviously felt safe with him.   
He wondered whether he desired her to feel safe in his own presence. Perhaps she would be less interesting if her intimidation were no longer present.   
Crossing the room quietly, he lowered himself to the sofa, presently empty as the other two occupied the chairs. 

“Breakfast, Tom?” Dumbledore offered in a voice that was wretchedly bright and chipper. 

“No thank you Sir. I am not hungry” he responded politely.

Dumbledore looked inexplicably disappointed. Perhaps he had been hoping to slip him some laced item or other. He turned to Hermione. “What do you think you might do today, my dear?” he enquired nosily. Hermione hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Tom momentarily and he bristled inwardly. It was blatantly obvious that whatever she was thinking to do today – clearly a Saturday, if the question was being posed at all – was not anticipated to involve him.

She confirmed this a moment later.

“I thought I might go to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron and some of the others..” she said hesitantly.   
Dumbledore’s disappointed expression reappeared momentarily and Tom watched Hermione shift her gaze uneasily.   
“However.. I suppose I could always go out with them another day” she conceded.   
Tom rolled his eyes subtly. 

“I believe that Harry has another engagement today.” Dumbledore informed her quietly. “Professor Snape has agreed to spend some time tutoring him.”   
At this Tom’s interest was piqued. The green eyed boy required a tutor in Potions?

“Oh.” Hermione said softly, avoiding eye contact. 

“Yes.. I’m sure that Harry would much prefer to go to Hogsmeade” Dumbledore continued.. “However it would not do to tempt him to that end. He really must improve, you know.”  
There was a moment of hesitation. “Perhaps Ronald might like to spend the day with you?”

The implication was clear as crystal to Tom. Hermione would not be going to Hogsmeade, with or without ‘Harry’. Ronald could however spend the day here with her.

“Er.. No.. No I think he was set on looking at something to do with quidditch today.” She answered quickly.   
He wondered whether her response was due to the wish to keep ‘Ronald’ from spending time in the head students’ quarters after he had threatened him last night, whether she did not think that the redhead would choose to spend time with her.. or whether she did not actually wish to spend time with him alone. He found that he didn’t mind which it might be.

“Ah well then. Would you like to remain here while Tom and I ..chat? or would you rather take breakfast in the great hall with your friends”  
Another wonderful example of Gryffindor subtlety at its horrendous best.   
He may as well have opened the door and drop kicked the girl into the corridor. She mumbled a quick response and had escaped the room in less than a minute. He watched the door close behind her with mixed feelings.

“How are you getting along with Hermione, Tom?” the Headmaster probed disingeniously.

“I believe she may be terrified of me” he responded with barely a moment’s hesitation.   
He did believe she might be afraid.. He also considered that she might simply be a convincing actor. She was certainly..nervous.. of him.. But that did not necessarily equate to the same thing. Fear and due caution were different things. She was..a lure. It was quite clear. It would be reasonable to consider that she might be adequately capable of defending herself. 

“Yes.. unfortunately it does rather seem that way” Dumbledore responded sadly. “Have you done anything perhaps to provoke her concern?!”

Tom debated various answers to this question. After a few seconds he answered “After you left me in the infirmary.. The boy ‘Harry’ surprised me.. She was with him there. He..attacked me..and she protected me from him..”  
Dumbledore’s pale blue eyes showed no sign of reaction to this. Tom wondered whether Hermione had already discussed the event with him.

“I..tried to be friendly to her. I tried to sit with her as she studied. It seemed only to unsettle her. Last night Harry and ...Ronald.. visited.   
...They truly do not seem to like me very much..   
Afterward I asked her about..Ronald.. I think my questions bothered her. I..was simply curious what she could possibly see in such an oafish fellow. You had told me of her intelligence..   
...She seemed to take offense.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. His eyes drifted off to the left.

“Yes... I confess, I have wondered that myself occasionally. They do not seem to have a large amount in common.. with the exception of their friendship with Harry, that is.   
I suspect that Hermione realises this herself. It is perhaps why she tends to be somewhat oversensitive to questions of that type.”   
The blue eyes sharpened.   
“are you certain that you gave her no other reason to be wary of you?” 

Tom wondered, delighted, whether the girl might have already broken her promise and tried to speak to Dumbledore of the events of last night. If so then she would soon find exactly how utterly at his mercy she was. 

He took the time to appear to think carefully.

“Perhaps..” he conceded finally.   
“I did let her know that I had liked her peach shampoo. It was not entirely ..appropriate.. to compliment her in that way. Perhaps I was overly familiar with her and it made her uncomfortable.   
I should not have done it. ...it...slipped out.”   
He shifted on the sofa uneasily, simulating a nervous fourteen year old with a mild crush on an older student. Technically it was what he was, in a certain sense..   
A very.. restricted..sense. Which also did not take account of his fifty or so years that he had on Hermione.

Dumbledore looked at him pensively for a while. Tom wondered if the man felt guilty for placing a sixteen year old girl in a vulnerable position.

“Ah well.. If that was all it was” he answered quietly. “I am certain she will forgive you for it.” He seemed to abandon the topic like a child with a new toy.

“Perhaps we might return to the topic of your plans regarding future Horcruxes. 

Tom groaned deep inside the forest in his mind. 

 

 

Dumbledore stayed for hours.   
They had begun speaking before breakfast... and the white bearded old goat didn’t leave him alone again till the time was nearing late afternoon. 

Tom was exhausted by the time he left. 

He had quizzed him on his opinions of all those with whom he had attended school. He had asked him about places he had visited .. places he had wanted to visit at some point.   
It could easily have been mistaken for a friendly chat between a Professor and a student.   
Except that Tom was under no illusions that the man was looking for potential affiliates.. possible locations in which he might have hidden his future horcruxes. 

The Headmaster spent a long time discussing his early years in the orphanage with him. Tom couldn’t quite work out to what end that topic was conceived until the man apologised to him for his negligence in leaving him within the unsuitable environment over the entire duration of his school years.   
Dumbledore had, it seemed, come to the conclusion, over the last half century, that he might have been better served by removing Tom from the cold, abusive prison of an institution. It seemed that the man felt some measure of...responsibility for Tom’s fate. 

He wondered again just what that fate contained.   
It seemed pointless to ask however, It was clear that Dumbledore would not now, and probably would not in the future, reveal to him anything which might provoke him to be more circumspect in the information he provided.

After he had left, Tom dropped down onto the sofa wearily.   
He felt stretched. Thin. 

A large orange cat strutted, stiff backed, across the hearth. He watched it blankly. It turned a squash-faced disdainful stare upon him. 

“If you wish me to stroke you, you will have to come here” he informed it quietly. 

Surprisingly it swished its tail for a moment and then stalked over to him, moving within his reach.   
An extraordinarily intelligent cat then, he thought to himself, filing the information away. He should best treat the animal as a potential spy.. a vulnerability to be kept in mind.   
He stroked its spine gently with a cupped hand. It arched against him, turning in small circles and rubbing up against his hand.   
After a while the cat leapt up onto the couch and curled into an orange ring of fur next to him. He hesitated and then shifted himself to his side, to make more room for it. He curled an arm around the creature lightly and closed his eyes. Yawning he tried again to sleep. 

 

 

“Crookshanks??!!” the alarmed voice disturbed him. He startled and looked up to find that Hermione was standing at the foot of the sofa, looking at him as if she had caught him in the process of skinning the animal with a quarter inch root-grater. The orange cat twitched an ear and didn’t bother to stir. Its manner seemed to scream “what do you want?! I’m comfortable”

“I’m ..sorry, Tom. He was supposed to be locked in my room. I have no idea how he managed to get out! I’ll put him away right now.” 

Tom rolled his eyes and lifted his arm, offering her access to the contentedly curled animal. She rushed forward and scooped it up quickly, retreating up the stairs at once.   
She didn’t return for a long time.   
He was considering going up to his room and working on organising his forest compartmentalisation for a while when the sound of her hesitant footfalls on the stair made him pause.   
It was unmistakeable in the way she scowled slightly when she saw he still lay upon the sofa that she had hoped he would be gone.   
He looked up at her blankly and then turned his gaze back to the fire. 

She looked at the door to the quarters longingly.. and then looked back to him.   
Apparently she wished to go out, but felt some duty to remain with him, since he was downstairs.   
He could solve that dilemma for her quite easily, he reasoned, standing tiredly and scuffing to his stairs, climbing them wearily and letting himself into his bedroom. He closed the door after himself quietly and dragged himself to his bed, tossing himself down upon it with mild irritation.   
The girl was either an extremely good actor and strategist or she truly was intimidated by him and would really have preferred not to have this task thrust upon her. 

There was a timid knock on his door. 

“Come in” he muttered, just loudly enough for her to catch it. 

He heard the door open but didn’t bother to remove his arm from over his eyes. He lay sideways on the large bed. The last rays of sundown cast the entire room into orange glowing flame at this hour and the light was hurting his eyes. 

“..Are you alright?” she asked uneasily.

“Fine” he answered curtly. “Consider your duty done. You can go and spend the evening with your friends.. and boyfriend.. with a clear conscience now.”

He heard her shuffle her feet slightly. Then the soft steps approached.   
He raised his arm slightly and scowled at her. 

“I’m.. sorry.. for leaving you alone so long.. I..didn’t-..”   
She didn’t finish the sentence. He wondered what she had intended to say. Whatever it had been – it was obviously not true. 

He lifted his arm from over his eyes.   
“Did you tell Dumbledore then?” he asked neutrally.

“No.” she said quietly, after a moment. 

His eyes drifted to her thoughtfully. Had she realised? 

“You can sit with me.. “ he offered, managing to sound reluctant. “I’m sure that you are supposed to speak with me about any number of things that the Headmaster wishes to know. Come and sit down and I will discuss whatever you wish.”

She lingered for a moment longer at the foot of the bed indecisively before she walked around to the other side and positioned herself on the remotest end of the bed from him. He rolled his eyes.   
“I had not actually intended to leap upon you, you know” he muttered. 

She snorted. “I’d like to see you try it! I’ll hex you into next week! I won’t lose my wand to you again, Tom!” she threatened, sounding more sure of herself.   
He smirked. Could that be interpreted as a challenge?   
It certainly could, he thought to himself. 

“So... tell me about yourself” he demanded quietly. “I know nothing whatsoever about you beyond your first name and the subjects you are taking“ he lied.   
She made an irritated little sound that he decided was quite pleasing. He determined to oblige her to make it much more often. 

“You invited me to sit so that you could tell me about yourself Tom, not interrogate me..” 

He turned his head up toward her, smiling wryly, “You already know a great deal about me. If I am to come to speak with you in a friendly manner.. if you wish me to reveal all my dastardly little secrets.. You are going to have to at least attempt to build a rapport.   
Perhaps Dumbledore should have placed the head boy with me in these quarters – I take it from the combination of colours and symbols downstairs that he was a Slytherin. I have no doubt he would already be exchanging precious little childhood anecdotes with me, if he were here.”

He heard her scoff.   
“I doubt it” she snapped under her breath.   
“What do you want to know?!” she demanded a shade louder. 

“What is your last name, for a start?” he asked thoughtfully. 

There was a long pause.   
The reluctance on the girl’s part to reveal her family name was in and of itself thought provoking.   
She was either very well positioned.. or dirty blooded.   
The atmosphere subtly suggested to him that it was more likely the latter. 

“Granger” she said quietly after a minute. Her tone seemed to dare him to remark on her oh so muggle name. 

He took that dare also. 

“Are you a half-blood?” he asked softly. 

“No.” she responded with icicles hanging from the syllable. 

His eyes slid over to her again and looked her up and down.   
A mudblood.   
A true mudblood. On his bed. He thought about how close he had come to kissing her this morning. Last night he had touched her...   
Repulsive.   
He looked away again.

“Who is the current head boy and why exactly do you detest him?” he changed the subject. It would do no good to dwell further on her filthy blood. 

“Are you sure you want to continue speaking with a mudblood?!” she spat.   
Had his expression been that transparent, he wondered.   
Apparently so. 

“Not entirely” he responded lightly. “I am still deciding. The head boy?...”

She shifted slightly. He had the impression that she was considering marching out of his room in indignation.   
She was rather..strident.. for a mudblood, he mused.   
In his own time, all the mudbloods – and there had been few – had been rather insipid cowed creatures. 

Of course that may have stemmed from the near universal hate they faced within every house. Even the Hufflepuffs had been unwilling to entirely embrace them.

Still... she was, at least according to Dumbledore, the top student in the school... The best mind of many decades..  
Of course, it would probably amuse his former Professor to no end to see him befriend a mudblood. He had always shown great favouritism toward the sad little wretches.   
Far more would it please the man if he were to actually become involved with one intimately, he imagined.  
Perhaps she was not the top student that Dumbledore had asserted.

“Draco Malfoy” Hermione said coldly, derailing his train of thought slightly.   
Abraxas flew to his mind. The current head boy was his descendant obviously.   
If he could somehow meet with this Draco boy, then he could perhaps get a message to his old friend. Could perhaps reconnect with someone who might provide support should things go bad in Dumbledore’s captivity.

“As for my reasons for ..detesting him.. He sees the world in much the same way that you seem to. His first word to me began with Mud.   
He is an absolute cockroach. A slimy little spoiled brat, whose father buys his way through life and who spends his entire existence insulting and cursing my friends and myself.   
He was granted the Head boy position purely because Professor Dumbledore hoped to demonstrate to the school that Gryffindors and Slytherins.. and more importantly that ...muggleborns and despicable pureblood supremists can coexist peacefully.   
I think he hoped that we would suddenly find some basis for understanding and appreciating one another and the world would erupt into spontaneous peace and tea and biscuits would rain from the sky.  
Professor Dumbledore’s thought processes are sometimes a bit ..questionable...  
Of course – what could be more unlikely than a friendship with Draco?! Oh.. let me think.. Perhaps a friendship with bloody Tom Riddle?! The man is insane. I have no idea what I am doing here! You are far, ..far slipperier than Draco Malfoy. Don’t think that anyone is buying this ‘poor little fourth year’ act either! EVERYONE knows that you are a scheming, psychopathic snake and you only proved that last night”

He processed this rant quietly. 

He was finding himself tempted to actually converse with the girl. She did have a certain.. fire.. Admittedly that crazed bluster was the reason that Gryffindors were so utterly repugnant – nevertheless she somehow managed to render it attractive. 

It bothered him. 

Perhaps she was not truly a muggleborn. Perhaps..

He sighed. It was foolish wishful thinking. She was quite attractive. If she were a halfblood.. it would be tolerable... but a muggleborn?! The idea was obscene.

“So we have discovered that we will not soon be bosom companions..” he responded wearily. “Did you truly wish to be? It has seemed that you have preferred to avoid me almost from the first moment.”

She didn’t reply.

“What exactly does your friend have against me then?! Is he..muggleborn.. also?”

“No.” she responded quietly. “Harry is ... I don’t actually know. His father was a pureblood and his mother a muggleborn.”

“Halfblood” Tom informed her softly. “His mother explains why he is so willing to befriend one of your status, I suppose”

At that the girl did leap to her feet. “You horrible little.. oooh..” He heard her fuming and struggling to restrain the furious insults boiling up within. He smiled inside. So easily provoked..   
“I am leaving now, Tom.” She snarled furiously. “I made an effort to speak to you.. It clearly does not agree with either of us. I will see what I can do about having someone else stay with you here.”

A tiny twinge of irritation pricked him.   
He was not certain he wanted someone else to stay with him.   
It certainly made more sense to his long term goals if she remained. He had already placed her under a wand oath, defeated her wands and gained access to her wand – which was compatible enough to obey him.   
Also... her hair smelled of peaches again today.

It took a barely-there wandless confundus and he was already rolling backward on the bed and pinning her down against the mattress. He had plucked her wand from her hand and used it to fix her in place before she blinked and began to rage and struggle.

“YOU ABSOLUTE LITTLE CREEP! LET ME GO!!” 

He smirked down from his position, straddling her and twirled her wand between his fingers. 

“I believe you dared me to try to leap upon you. Oh... and.. it seems you did lose your wand to me just as easily as last night. More easily perhaps.. since, having drawn it, you really ought to have been able to defend yourself adequately this time.”

Her face darkened to a near apoplectic red. “Get. Off.” She growled threateningly. 

He smiled and leaned down, parting his legs wider and allowing himself to subside down onto her languidly, folding his arms over her breasts and resting his chin on them. He tapped her wand against his arm.  
“No.. I believe I am quite comfortable at present. Thank you” he responded quietly. She bared gritted teeth at him. 

“I don’t think I wish you to ‘see what you can do about having someone else stay with me’.. in fact – I am at present actually leaning toward forgiving your unfortunate blood status, purely in light of your rather amusing mannerisms and the enticing scent of your...quite unusual.. hair.” He unfolded one arm and delved his fingers into the soft mad curls erupting all around her head. She flinched and looked suddenly quite frightened again.

“...Please, get off me, Tom?” she tried, hopefully. He smirked.

“That is a far more pleasant tone” he informed her. “So much nicer than the ranting and screaming.. Perhaps you should use that voice from now on.. “

She nodded mutedly, her eyes kept flicking between his face and her wand. 

“Now.. Tell me.. Why does your halfblood friend loathe me so?” He asked curiously. “I can imagine various reasons why your beau might dislike you living in close quarters with another boy.. however your-“

She interrupted him. “Ron isn’t upset that I’m living with a boy, Tom. You’re fourteen!.. Ron is upset that I’m living with a raving psychopath. And as it turns out – he’s right! I should have listened to him and told Professor Dumbledore to go jump.” 

He prickled at the second reference to his age. She had called him a little creep before. Now it seemed she was suggesting that he could not possibly constitute a legitimate competitor for her dullard of a boyfriend.  
She thought of him as a child. She was not at all interested.   
The thought bothered him far more than he knew it should – particularly in light of the fact that, due to her revelation about her blood status, he would sooner mate with the giant squid than spill his seed within her unworthy vessel.. It should not have bothered him at all.

“I am not..fourteen.. Hermione.” He countered icily. “If anything.. I am far too old for you. Sixty six, in fact. But let us not argue about sex when it is so obviously a repulsive prospect for both of us – Your friend Harry. You were about to tell me about him..”

Her mouth snapped shut from the wide eyed gape she had been offering him.  
“Everyone loathes you, Tom. Not just Harry. You are universally loathed. Your older.. that is other self is a murderer, a fugitive, an evil creature. The entire wizarding world wishes him dead.”

He blinked.   
Well.. It seemed that he hadn’t succeeded quite as he’d hoped, after all. 

“Oh..” he managed, trying to dismiss the disturbance that he felt on his own features. 

“Yes. It’s that simple. What else do you want to know” the girl demanded impatiently. He felt a flare of anger at her flippancy. 

He raised himself up slightly and narrowed his eyes at her.   
“Manners, Mudblood... or my.. -excuse me- YOUR wand might slip..”

She grit her teeth and looked away. 

“Name as many Slytherin students as you can” he demanded. 

She huffed and remained silent. He turned her face back toward him with the tip of her wand.   
“Hermione.. Our current position is entirely your own doing, you realise. I gave you ample opportunity to leave earlier. When you followed me, I offered you the chance again. Upon your insistence, I invited you to sit with me and speak.. It was you who could not control her temper..after threatening me when I sought only to reassure you.. You have escalated tension between us to the point that I had to restrain you to prevent you from rushing off to the old goat and demanding to escape my taxing companionship.”

Her expression conveyed unmistakeably that she had a somewhat different take on events. 

“You have.. deliberately sought to insult and provoke me.. and you are, at present, behaving appallingly. And yet I am still showing you patience..”

He watched her take a deep breath. He was almost certain she was counting to ten. He stroked the wand point over her eyebrow. 

“Slytherin students... We shall be going through all the houses – I would like to know who exactly has reproduced and where their offspring might currently reside. I am certain you cannot begrudge me my curiosity.”

After a moment she said quietly “I’m not going to tell you anything about the other students, Tom. You are dangerous enough without directing your attention toward anyone else here. Incidentally you won’t get out of these quarters.. and certainly not with my wand. Don’t you think that Dumbledore would have considered that?!

He paused thoughtfully..

“I am not sure.. Yes.. I would have imagined that he would place some form of block preventing me from using a wand at all. I can think of at least three spells that would achieve that result.. As it appears – he has not – and I have to conclude that he is also not monitoring my wand use – or, surely, he would have arrived to tear me off you by now.   
Unless.. he is amenable to my forcing you down on my bed at wandpoint...  
Who can be sure?!.. From what he said earlier, I gather that he is quite dismissive of your affections for the redhead. Perhaps he truly believes it would be more convenient if-“

“FOURTEEN!!” she snapped.   
“YOU ARE FOURTEEN. A CHILD! I would be ARRESTED.. if I were at all interested in you. You are underage, Tom.   
AND you are a bloody raving PSYCHOPATH!!!

He smirked.   
“I spoke of the Headmaster’s erratic thought processes, not my own desires, Hermione. I suspect that the senile old romantic believes that allowing a mudblood into my bed might show me the error of my ways. I neither want to dirty myself on you, nor wish to perceive ‘The error of my ways’ as conceptualised by Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps you should-...”

There was a knocking.  
It was not his bedroom door. He recognised the amplified knocking of the main door downstairs.

He cursed under his breath. 

The witch beneath him looked sublimely relieved. Clearly she was certain that whoever it might be – he’d have to release her. 

Well... he’d see about that.

The knock at the door sounded again, somewhat louder and more insistent. Whoever it was, was not going to go away.

“You can’t open the door to the chambers” she informed him smugly. “If you try, you’ll only get a nasty shock and set off half a dozen alarms around the school. Let me go, Tom. Now!”

He glared down at her, tapping her wand on his thigh as he tried to think of a solution quickly – preferably one that didn’t allow the prospect of the thrice damned girl rushing off and escaping.. possibly telling tales or simply insisting upon being removed from the quarters. 

He smiled darkly..

“Obedecer” He intoned with satisfaction.


	8. Chapter 8

“Obedecer” He intoned with satisfaction.

 

The brown eyes that were tight with tense and hopeful anticipation softened at once and lost a little of their vibrancy. Hermione smiled peacefully.   
He looked down at her with a strange mix of satisfaction and disappointment. She had succumbed so easily..

“I think you should answer the door” he reminded her as he slowly withdrew from her, tucking her wand into his pocket.   
She beamed at him as if he’d just offered the solution to all her problems  
“Oh yes! The door! I forgot!” she told him, climbing up off the bed and adjusting her skirt. She moved quite contentedly to the open doorway and descended the stairs.   
He followed her at a few paces distance. This spell required constant line of sight, although thankfully not eye contact.   
He positioned himself in the shadow of the door as she reached for it, looking entirely pleased and distracted by some other thought. 

She had no sooner parted the wood from the frame than the door was pushed in, shoving her back slightly. Tom kept his hand on the wand in his pocket, stepping out slightly, in order to maintain a visual link on the girl.   
There was a tall slender boy shouldering his way into the room. He knew at once who it was by the unmistakeable shock of nearly white hair falling silkily to his shoulders. 

“Where is he, Granger?!” the Malfoy descendent growled, closing the door behind him quickly. Hermione frowned slightly. “Where is who?!” she asked, confused. 

“Draco Malfoy, I take it” Tom spoke quietly from behind him, Hermione’s wand trained on the boy. 

The blonde whirled and his eyes nearly popped out.   
“Merlin’s fucking balls!” he spat. 

Tom shot him a disapproving look. Abraxas would never have expressed himself in such a coarse manner. It seemed that his grandson was an ill mannered little cur – at least, he assumed this was his grandson, unless he’d had children very late in life – not the standard operating practice within Pure-blood society.

“What are you doing here, Draco?” Hermione managed, obviously having difficulty making sense of events around her now. This spell was less useful than the imperius due to that very factor – unless the caster was attending to the victim fully and directing both actions and words, they tended to stand around looking foolish and confused. The imperius was more convenient. One could give the subject the vague suggestion of how they might like to behave and they would order themselves with respect to the spirit of that idea. On the other hand – it was impossible to remove the stain of unforgiveables from a wand, whereas this spell could be wiped away when he was finished.

Draco turned and inspected Hermione more closely, his face breaking into a wide beatific smile after a few seconds.   
“Oh... beautiful! This is just beautiful. The mudblood Granger under a compulsion curse. You let him take your wand, didn’t you, Granger.. Severus always said there was nothing in your head but useless books!”   
The blonde turned back to him and appraised him with more care. There was something...distinctly familiar in the boy’s expression. He could see the way Abraxas would look at any development to see where profit might lie.   
...And .. there was something else.. Something he had felt before, in the infirmary when the tall dour ‘Severus’ had been in the room.. something he hadn’t quite been able to understand. He probed at the strange..tingle... in the back of his mind upon seeing the Blonde. The boy shivered suddenly and then looked uncertain before the emotion was wiped from his lean sharp face.

“Do you know who I am?” Tom enquired, 

The boy’ eyes widened.   
“...I... I have an Idea.   
...Are you really ..Him.. How are you here?! You look-....” he didn’t finish the sentence.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes. I am aware of my present appearance. I am older than I look. How did you learn I was here?” he asked him curiously. 

The calculating look in the pale grey eyes didn’t fade for a moment.   
“The weasel. – that is – Ronald Weasley. I don’t know if you know him. He was banging on in the corridor down from Charms about the mudblood being in danger. Pansy - Pansy Parkinson, heard him mention that ‘she was all alone with him in the head’s quarters – and who knew what he might do.’   
Since she was already put out that I no longer had access to a private room, she took the time to listen. She said it was something in the way he said it that made her curious.   
Potty was trying to shut him up and then when the Weasel snapped and said something about Granger being ‘shut up with ‘you know who’ – well.. she ran to come find me.” 

“...How can you be... him.?!” The silvery eyes narrowed as Draco tilted his head, seeming to try to see.. or to imagine.. something. Probably his older self, Tom presumed. 

If the boy had rushed here in this manner then it was more than likely that the Malfoys were still among his closest allies.

“What the fuck happened?! How are you here..alive.. if you ARE him?! Why are they keeping you here?!”

The boy cautiously moved closer, examining him with sharp eyes and that incredulous half sneer.   
He was.. much taller than Tom. The tingling feeling in his mind that he’d been examining grew as Draco came nearer. It was really rather pleasant, he decided.   
Nevertheless – until he determined what was causing it, it was probably unwise to get too close. 

“I would prefer it if you would remain where you are” he stated quietly. Draco stopped where he was immediately. 

“My father said...” the boy hesitated and then seemed to change tack completely, suspicious and uneasy.  
“How can I be certain of who you are?! I don’t recognise you. Admittedly you have something..about you.. but you look like a third year. Tell me-...” he seemed to struggle for something to ask. “Do..something that-..”

Tom sighed and flicked the wand in his hand casting Serpensortia. A long black viper was spat from his wandtip and landed on the floor between them both. Draco’s eyes widened and he took a small step back.   
Abraxas had done the same thing once. He had been quite...uneasy.. about snakes. Knowing that Tom mastered them had not ameliorated his fear in the slightest. 

::Come to me:: he instructed the long black viper that was looking about and hissing agitatedly. 

::Where am I?:: the snake demanded irritably before going on to berate him on the mouse it had just caught which would be stolen now.   
He huffed impatiently. Typical. The one snake in the world who might backchat in this moment. He told it to come to him and it could return to its mouse. It obeyed then, slithering near and onto his arm when he half bent, extending it to it. 

Draco looked uncertain.. “Potter can do that too..” he said indecisively.

Tom’s eyes sharpened. What?! The boy who loathed him.. who, he realised, Hermione had not told him anything about after all... That boy was a parselmouth?! Was he his son?!.. She had said he was the child of a pureblood and a mudblood. Unless she had lied..  
He glanced at the confused witch standing wringing her hands anxiously and banished the snake once more

“I want to know more about this Harry Potter..” he informed the blonde wizard. “Hermione.. was not particularly forthcoming about him. 

Draco sneered. “No.. Well she wouldn’t be, would she. They’re practically joined at the hip. She’d hardly tell you anything you might use against him.” 

Tom frowned. The way he said it, it seemed very much that this Harry Potter might be some kind of particular, rather than general enemy, in contrast to what the girl had suggested.

“Perhaps.. we might.. sit down and speak together..Draco..” he offered after moment. “I am certain that you could be far more informative than the witch has been.  
The blonde gave a curt nod. “Oh... I think I can..” he smirked. 

He began to direct Hermione toward the sofa, but, changing his mind, altered her course toward the stairs to his room. He did not feel comfortable sitting so close to the fire and speaking to this boy with whom he was no doubt forbidden to have contact. Should Dumbledore arrive through the Floo there would be no disguising things. In his room, in contrast, there was no floo. Draco might escape through the bathroom into Hermione’s room and then downstairs and out of the chambers.   
Draco seemed in the first instance unsettled at the direction he had gestured him in, but followed the witch up the stairs. When he reached the top, he looked about possessively. It was clear that this had been, until recently, his room. He strode to the bed and tossed himself down against the pillows. 

Tom stared for a moment.   
Beyond the impudence of it.. the gall of the bastard to invite himself to such a thing, it did not escape him the way the long lean limbs were aesthetically pleasing in their arrogant splayed carelessness.   
He caught the regal lift of the blonde head as Draco brushed his silky curtain of hair from his eyes.   
Not.. as attractive as the green-eyed Harry.. but definitely a finer figure than his ancestor had cut.   
He observed him thoughtfully as he made the witch sit down on the end of the bed, much as she had been earlier. 

Draco turned his nose up slightly. “Surely the vermin could sit on the floor. Don’t tell me you would be content to sleep in the bed after it’s been defiled by her?!”

Tom looked over at the curly haired witch.   
She was still irritatingly attractive, he noted.   
It was infuriating.   
In principle he agreed entirely with the arrogant blonde.. however ...when he’d lay over her.. straddling her.. when he’d felt her soft breasts against his arms.. it had felt quite enticing. 

“Forget the witch. I’ll scourgify the room later. Harry Potter. We may not have much time to speak. Tell me what I need to know, Draco” He moved forward to sit on the other end of the bed opposite the blonde, who watched him thoughtfully.

“Where do I even begin?.. What do you know about him?!” he was asked.

Tom half shrugged.   
“I know he despises me.. I think he might have tried to kill me when I first returned here, if it hadn’t been for this witch.” He gestured at Hermione in his peripheral vision. “I know.. nothing else about him really. Start from the beginning.. start from the most important point. Start somewhere... “

Draco took a breath. His silvery eyes drifted to the left and he sneered mildly at Hermione.   
“Harry Potter...killed you..” 

Tom blinked. He hadn’t ever considered that he might have been killed.. All comments he’d heard thusfar had indicated that he was somewhere out there.. older...possibly despised.

“When he was a baby there was some prophesy that he was going to kill you.. I don’t know exactly what it said – My father never managed to get his hands on it for you – but Severus-..”  
Tom’s eyes sharpened. Severus was the tall dark dour man who had seemed overly wary of him. Severus was the other person who had awakened this strange feeling in the back of his mind.   
“-..had heard part of it somehow.. he brought the news to you that there was a prophesy that some child would be born at a certain time with the power to kill you.”

Severus was... his..associate?  
His servant?  
A traitor then? A spy? But for whom?!

Frowning Tom queried “A child?! How?!”

Draco shrugged.   
“Merlin only knows. But you obviously determined that you’d kill it first. You decided it was Potter and killed his parents and then tried to kill him-..”

Tom understood suddenly where the cold hate filled expression in the Avada green eyes had come from.

“-Something went wrong. Instead of killing him.. the spell killed you. Or.. or.. didn’t kill you, obviously, since you came back.. but it did something. You vanished. There was no sign of you for more than a decade.”

His horcruxes, Tom thought, relieved. Perhaps even his own imprisonment had assisted him to survive what might   
have otherwise killed him. It was.. almost.. worth it perhaps. 

“Then.. when Potter came to Hogwarts.. there were some incidents.. It’s hard to get information about it.. but something happened when we were all in first year. Something about you. Potter was in the infirmary.   
Then..in second year...” Draco paused.  
“My father..” he licked his lips slightly, uneasily. He had a pale pink pointed tongue. “My father.. had.. a certain.. book.. of yours.. When..he was unable to find any of the other objects he was looking for..and since Aunt Bella was in Azkaban-“   
Tom understood the meaning, although who aunt Bella was supposed to be or why she was important was entirely lost on him – Draco’s father had had a book.. probably much like the diary horcrux he had been trying to make. Harry had mentioned that in the infirmary. He’d recognised the idea of him being trapped in a diary.   
“- he didn’t have any other option but to use the book you’d left him... to try to bring you back.”

Tom held his breath. 

“It..failed.” Draco finished, shifting his eyes away discomforted. “Potter destroyed it. He even gave it back to us afterward. There was a huge hole in it and it was bloodstained.”

The shiver rippled through him beyond his control. That could have so easily been him. He wondered what it might be like to have been killed inside the diary. How would he have died?!

“So..uh..some of your other servants arranged for a certain ritual. It was almost impossible to lay hands on Potter and he was needed for it somehow. They succeeded in the end and.. and you came back..   
That was..almost three years ago.. “   
The look on the boy’s face clearly displayed his reticence to tell something further about that.

“What else?.. what went wrong?!” he guessed.

Silver eyes flicked to him. “Nothing.. or.. I don’t know. Maybe nothing. You look.. ...different.. than you do now. That’s all.   
Potter has been fighting you ever since. You duelled in the ministry of magic – it was in the papers.” 

Tom did not narrow his eyes at the boy.. he didn’t show any sign at all of his discontent with the answer.   
“Do you know where my other self is now?!” he asked lightly.

“No!” Draco responded immediately.   
“No.. no one does. You don’t allow anyone to know that. 

Turning his attention to Hermione, he tilted his head thoughtfully. Draco was withholding something important. He was in fact not being as informative as he had seemed to promise to be. This was unacceptable.

He concentrated and silently directed Hermione to remove her blouse.   
The shocked gasp from the blonde at the girl’s actions convinced him that Draco was sufficiently distracted. He released the spell he’d been holding, a petrificus variant.   
Not even his eyes were capable of movement but Tom believed he could sense Draco’s panic on some level. It was almost a scent in the air.   
He rose from the bed and moved closer, summoning the boy’s wand. It was a slender polished black construction. It felt quite light in his hand. He swished it experimentally. It produced a weak spray of silver motes in the air. The wand was without a doubt darker than Hermione’s.   
Absently it occurred to him that he had forgotten to stop the girl from undressing. He turned and paused, transfixed by the sight of the pretty witch sitting placidly in a dark purple lacy brassiere. She had folded her blouse and laid it to the side. Her breasts were not overly large but seemed to be nicely formed... not that he’d seen a great many in person, he conceded.   
He allowed himself to drink in the sight for a few seconds before reminding himself of the matter at hand.   
“Put it back on, Hermione” he instructed, turning back to the frozen Malfoy. 

He wasn’t entirely certain how well this next spell might fare. He hadn’t had any opportunity to try it and while the texts had, in some instances, been quite detailed – allowing him to imagine the probable results – He was uncertain in casting it and concerned that he might not yet direct it well. He would need to practice in future. He glanced again pensively at the witch, buttoning her blouse up again. It would be useful to know more about her..and really – he had no other readily available options. She would suffice. He would try to find some time to practice on her, if he could. 

Stepping closer still to Draco he registered that the tingle in his mind had spread to become almost a throbbing warmth. It seemed to be somehow connected to him..   
Tom furrowed his brow. The sensation was..peculiar.   
He transferred Hermione’s wand to his other hand and moved until he was standing at the side of the bed, next to Draco before he dispelled the freezing charm. It was unnecessary to do so, and perhaps not entirely wise - after all the boy was safely incapacitated.. However for some reason he wanted to see Draco’s aristocratic features twist and react to what he would do next. It would have taken something away from the experience to forgo it.   
Draco flinched away in panic. “What.. what are you-“ he started.

“Relax...” Tom soothed him quietly. “You understand.. I have to know what you know, Draco... I must see for myself.” 

This caused still more panic. The boy’s entire body stiffened as if he was preparing to leap away and run.   
“No.. don’t!.. Give me my wand back.. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know..”

Tom looked back at him calmly, projecting the quiet conviction that fighting would be futile.   
“This may be.. uncomfortable.. for you, if you try to resist. But.. I will try to be...gentle..”  
He brushed aside the silky blonde hair from the boy’s forehead with the tip of Draco’s wand, making the boy shiver. Draco was shaking his head slightly, wide eyed and mouthed again ‘No!’  
Tom half smiled, tilting his head.   
“You are..quite attractive.. when you are afraid, Draco.” He trailed the point of the other wand up the other boy’s white shirt. Draco’s jaw dropped slightly and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. He recovered with difficulty and shook his head again. “Don’t.. please!” he moaned between gritted teeth.

“Legilimens” Tom intoned softly. 

He hadn’t been certain what to expect..and the sensation of flying forward at speed while the world blurred out around him came as a surprise. 

He found himself drifting.. floating.. over a vast dark ocean. The water was almost black.. in the distance an orange sun hung low on the horizon. There was nothing but the quiet slapping of waves and a gentle breeze.   
It was an aesthetically pleasing.. if featureless.. world. 

“Stop occluding..” he whispered, and was unsure whether his words were conveyed to Draco. Nothing in the environment changed at all. 

He had read about this. Gorley had written half a book on the art of occlusion. As defences went – he had advocated rich and complex environments rather than featureless plains such as deserts, skies, oceans – purely on the basis that increased depth could be used as a foil to trap the invading mind much like a maze, whereas a featureless plain was essentially the equivalent of a brick wall – its strength depended upon the strength of will of the occluding wizard, relative to the focus of the invader.   
Tom applied himself to the ‘brick wall’ he’d been offered. Gorley’s ideas on how best to defeat such constructions had been difficult to truly imagine. He had seemed to say, once or twice that the entire impression could be peeled away like a skin.. but then at other times he had suggested movement through the plane of the projection...and still other times, that a hole might be punched through the surface itself.

“Draco... what are you so concerned about hiding..” Tom murmured aloud.. “You claimed to be willing to provide me with information.. you sought me out.. 

He focused on the waves, imagining them as a curtain.. fine filliments.. It was not entirely easy to do so.. the environment was richly animated.. the waves seemed real.   
Nevertheless – he certainly had a greater focus than Abraxas’ uncouth descendent. He concentrated.. forcing his own impression to shift.. ignoring the information meeting his senses. The waves were a curtain.. a billowing waving curtain.   
He parted it.

He felt a sensation like thrashing.. it was disembodied and ..strangely exciting. Like a slippery fish underwater. The sensation of Draco’s panic in this place was delicious. 

Black surrounded him for a time.. then, as if he had turned to look behind him, another facade slotted into place. This one appeared to be a garden. He recognised it. Malfoy Manor. He had visited this place before.   
A second occluding layer.. Perhaps Abraxas’ grandson was more capable than he appeared. 

With detailed dimensional layers, Gorley had advised a different approach. There would be a core hidden somewhere within the illusion.. an anchor around which the entire world was built.   
What would Draco choose as the most important piece of this world?! Tom turned around in a slow circle.. Fountains.. strutting white peacocks in this distance.. ornamental rows of miniature fruit trees.. it was all..unimportant. 

“Draco... let me in” he cajoled. “you are beginning to try my patience”  
It was a lie. He found this little challenge even more entertaining than dismantling Hermione’s wards had been. He rather hoped that Draco would have more hidden up his sleeve.  
On the other hand.. he couldn’t afford to spend all too long in this state. If someone came and interrupted him.. he was vulnerable at present as focused as he was.

He closed.. whatever the equivalent of his eyes were.. and turned in a slow circle, feeling for ‘brightness’.. feeling for conflux of energy.. Shutting out the environment he set off in the direction that seemed thickest.   
From the tightening tension all around him he assumed that he was approaching the key and Draco was panicking again.  
“Almost there..” he whispered to the boy. “Do you have any more to offer?”

He felt the substrate around him shudder for a moment and then the tightness thickened.. solidified.. became as tar.. holding him.. slowing him.   
Laughing in delight he twisted in the hardening shell.  
“Draco.. are you trying to make yourself even more attractive to me?...”   
He probed the solid surface surrounding him and then pushed.. deforming it. He continued pushing until it dissipated, accompanied by a sense of the other boy’s growing exhaustion.   
Draco was not accustomed to sustained focus of this kind, apparently.

“No.. don’t give up.. Show me what else you have..   
...Draco - When I am finished with your mind I’m going to explore the rest of you..” he taunted him, with the mental equivalent of a smirk. 

The resulting flash of fear and despair was sweet.

The entire texture of his surroundings shifted and folded and suddenly he found himself in the air. He could see Draco... He was flying on a broom. There were others in the air. He recognised the Quidditch pitch. The stands were empty. This was some kind of training session obviously. It seemed Draco was the Slytherin seeker.   
Tom watched as he pushed his broom on, faster, darting and twisting through the air after the tiny gold flicker. The lean sleek body and narrowed wilful eyes were more suited to motion than they had been to rest.

But this was simply further occlusion.   
This was not a useful memory – although it at least was a memory.

“Lord Voldemort” he prompted. The quidditch pitch shimmered for a moment and there was a sudden flash of cruel inhuman red eyes..with vertical pupils like a snake, before the blonde raced past on his broom after the snitch.  
Tom hesitated uneasily..  
Perhaps he would return to that after he’d looked at his other primary interest.

“Harry Potter” he hissed into the boy’s mind.

FLASH  
Draco extending his hand.. green eyes meeting grey.. a rejection. The green eyed boy moving away to stand next to a familiar looking red headed boy with narrowed blue eyes. Draco’s Hurt..Resentment..Hate. 

FLASH  
A small green eyed boy with a dirty face in a crowded bookshop.. people flocking around him excitedly.. cameras.. Some foppish wizard pulling him over for a photo. Draco looks on dubiously from above. His irritation and resentment are stifling. He stalks downstairs. There is more than frustration.. a sense of purpose. His father wants him to do something... He delays and confronts the young Harry and then suddenly a man appears who can only be Draco’s father. He dresses Draco down, to the latter’s shame, and introduces himself to Harry. Lucius. His name is Lucius.. Draco is Abraxas grandson after all. 

FLASH   
A view across the Great Hall.. Harry Potter as Tom had last seen him, staring into the distance pensively, ignoring the nudge from his friends and the conversation around him. He is..apart.. from all the others. Among them but not one of them. 

FLASH   
A half naked form rocketing out of the Black lake and falling with a meaty thud onto a wooden platform, dripping, exhausted, gasping for air. Green eyes turn up, passing over silvery grey without pausing. Harry’s younger body.. wet hair.. He is the hero again.. Draco’s anger.. disappointment.... relief.

FLASH  
Another crash.. another sudden reappearance.. Bloodied..near unconscious.. gripping a large glowing trophy of some kind. Draco flicks away from this memory quickly

FLASH   
Harry is sitting in an alcove of the stone bridge alone, looking out over the lake. His eyes are harder than they were.. closer to the boy that Tom met. Draco is nowhere in sight at first, but Tom locates him, disillusioned further down the bridge in another alcove. Abruptly Harry’s face seems to crack and then he’s burying his head in his hands and sobbing silently. His shoulders are wracked by the gasping silent roars of misery.

Tom tried to rebalance himself.. The feelings were..intense.. almost as if he were feeling them himself.. Very hard to view objectively. This was all so different than he’d imagined.. Not at all like reading a book..  
He tried to focus. What had he wanted to know?! Not everything about Harry Potter.. Not random memories.. Certainly not what appeared to be Draco’s reluctant sulky fascination with and admiration of him.

“Harry Potter is a parselmouth” he nudged the mind lightly.

FLASH  
Standing in the DADA duelling room.. Harry and Draco are duelling.. Tom recognises the ‘Severus’ fellow behind Draco.. He is wearing an expression of horror. The foppish looking wizard with golden hair and overly ornate cape that he saw in the memory of the bookshop is standing to the side looking alarmed. A young Harry is speaking to a cobra on the floor between Draco and himself.   
::Don’t panic.. Just.. stay there.. Don’t move.. No.. ignore them.. Don’t .. you’re frightening them.. Come back. Please leave him alone::   
The snake is approaching a gormless looking student whose terrified suspicious gaze is darting between Harry and the snake. Draco’s confusion is loud in his mind.. But also.. a dark eagerness. Draco is hoping that whatever Harry is saying will cause the student to be attacked by the snake. He is hoping that Harry might do something...other than act the perfect little noble Gryffindor.. 

FLASH  
Harry is sitting in the library. Draco is in one of the Aisles pretending to read a book on Salazar Slytherin and watching him. Most of the students in the room are casting suspicious disapproving stares in Harry’s direction. Draco is about to go over and provoke him but Harry gets up and gathers his books, leaving the Library. 

Tom mused on the memories. They didn’t add anything to the question of how Harry was able to speak Parseltongue. There had been a lot less response to the idea.. He gathered that Draco had not had a lot of opportunity to sample Harry speaking in Parseltongue.. although it seemed that he would have liked to gain more.   
Tom wondered for a moment how it might have been for him if his own ability had become widely known.   
He had always hidden it. It was something.. personal.. something he didn’t want to share. It had been almost the first thing that had made him realise that he was different to the other children in the orphanage.. that he was special.   
It seemed that Harry had not done very well after it became common knowledge that he shared traits with the greatest of the founders. 

“Tom Riddle” he murmured curiously against Draco’s mind. 

FLASH  
The towering form of Lucius Malfoy bristling in anger.. and perhaps fear, Tom debated. Draco clutching his hand to his chest and looking up, shocked and hurt; on the desk lay a familiar looking diary.   
“Do not touch what does not belong to you, Draco!” He strides forward and snatches up the diary, tucking it into an pocket inside his robes.   
“Did you open it? Did you...write in it?!”   
Draco shakes his head urgently.   
“No father.. I was simply curious.. I didn’t touch it.” He is lying. He did touch it.. he turned it over and read the gold embossed name on the back. He had been about to open it when his father’s stinging hex slashed over the back of his hand.   
“Go to your room! I do not wish to find you playing in my study again, Draco.” 

FLASH  
A familiar diary with a gaping bloody hole in it lay on his father’s desk. Draco looked around surreptitiously before he left the room again. 

FLASH  
“Our Lord will return, Draco. You shall see. Very soon now he will be among us again. Never forget!” Lucius’ proud satisfied face.

FLASH  
Sitting in the large Manor library – Draco reading a text on potions. Lucius, sitting in a chair nearer the fire looking over with a thoughtful distant expression.  
“Do you recall the book you found once in my study, Draco? The one I punished you for touching?...” Draco glances over with interest. 

This was a frustrating means of acquiring information, Tom decided. It took too long. There was too much to know.. how could he find the things he needed amongst so much distraction?!

“Lord Voldemort!” he demanded again.

FLASH  
Red eyes. Terror. Draco is terrified. He is thinking that he is in over his head.. he does not want to be here.   
An inhuman gestalt – white and tall and slender – his face looks snakelike. The creature is standing on a raised level, several stairs above..looking down. Draco is kneeling, unsure, afraid. All around.. figures in black cloaks.. ominous white masks covering their faces.   
“My Lord, Please will you h..honour me.. with your mark?!” Draco hisses between his teeth. He does not want whatever he is asking for.. This mark. The snakelike figure knows it too. 

Oh Merlin.. it couldn’t be! Tom pulled back out of the memory in horror. That could not be true. That ..thing... wasn’t him.. it wasn’t Lord Voldemort.   
Draco had said that he looked different now..  
It couldn’t be him, though. That ...it wasn’t even human!!.. How?! How did that happen?!   
The merciless malevolence in the alien red eyes...   
With difficulty he struggled to call up the same memory again – watching it again in greater detail. When Draco pulled back his sleeve and the looming terrifying presence approached him.. stood over him..pressed an unmistakeably familiar wand to the boy’s arm.. Tom thought he might be ill.   
Draco’s agony was bright and searing.. The cruel enjoyment on the monstrous serpentine face undeniable.   
And.. somehow.. also his.. He had seen that same dark satisfaction on his own face before.. This was a twisted caricature of it.

This WAS what he has become. This WAS his other self. 

Tom found he had no further appetite for this. He didn’t wish to learn any more at present. With only momentary disorientation he withdrew from the other boy’s mind. 

The room settled back into place around him after a few seconds. Draco was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, panting. In another state of mind, Tom acknowledged that he might have found it..arousing... However at present..   
He needed to think.   
Originally, when he had realised that the blonde was in some form of contact with his other self, he had thought to send a message – perhaps warn himself that he was here.. or request assistance.. But in light of what he had seen, he wondered if he shouldn’t think more carefully about that idea.   
It could not be ignored that his other self had willingly sentenced him to decades of torment. Who was to say that he would not take it in his head now to use him in some ritual to reclaim his former appearance – assuming, that is, that his current appearance was not intentional – something which Tom could not even venture to assume. It was possible he’d done it on purpose.

“I need to borrow your wand” he told the blonde, causing the grey eyes to snap open in dismay. 

“You can’t! I need it!” he blurted, alarmed. 

Tom half sighed. “I need it more. It will come to no harm. I am certain that you have some kind of replacement wand. A Malfoy is never unprepared..correct?”  
Draco’s face turned down in a miserable grimace.   
“How long?! If you get caught with it – they’ll expel me, you know! Or worse..”

Tom reached out and, ignoring the sharp flinch from the other boy, brushed aside his hair again.  
“I want you to visit me again tomorrow night, Draco” he said quietly. Silvery eyes flicked to his own and then away again. 

“I have-..

“I don’t care what other plans you might have had. I wish to see you again tomorrow night” he clarified in a reasonable tone. 

“Should I ..  
May I.. send word to my father about you?” Draco ground out between his teeth. 

Tom paused.  
“Not yet.” 

Draco shifted uneasily, trying to pull himself up on the bed. Tom placed his hand on the older boy’s chest to arrest the evasive movement.   
He was warm under the white pressed shirt.   
The touch stopped him in place and he looked up with another sharp alarmed expression, yet he made no move to push Tom’s hand away.   
“What...what do you want from me, then?!” he demanded.

“Don’t you know, Draco?!” Tom asked with a very small smirk. “You seem..intelligent enough.. The expression on your face certainly suggests that you understand my interest..”

The blonde paled further, looking uncertain.  
“But-..” he began, seeking to protest.

Tom waved the word away dismissively and allowed himself the slow exploration of the front of the other boy’s body.. his fingers slid down the white shirt, catching on a button here or there. He could feel the hard warm corrugations of the lean muscle below.   
If Harry was his sworn enemy.. his murderer.. then it was unlikely that he would be amenable to showing Tom the physical pleasures that he had forgone in his empty world... Draco.. on the other hand. Draco was quite attractive also and, it seemed, far easier to access. Draco would be perfectly suited to his experimentation.

Draco swallowed thickly and then seemed to glance at Hermione briefly before his silvery gaze returned to Tom’s face, now populated with some variant of unhappy resignation.   
“I.. If you want..that... M-my Lord. How can I refuse?!”

Tom found his heart give a little happy quiver at the two glorious words he had never had the opportunity to hear fall from another’s lips. It was fitting that they should come first from this boy.  
He flicked Draco’s wand lightly and the buttons on the crisp white shirt began to twist themselves one by one through their holes. Draco, obviously steeling himself, lay back down again and allowed it to happen without protest. Tom smiled wider. 

“Does... she have to be here?!” Draco asked with a plaintive expression after a moment. 

Tom glanced over at the girl sitting entirely unruffled on the end of the bed.   
He had quite forgotten about her.   
No.. she didn’t have to be here.. and he might lose track of the spell holding her if he became too distracted by the other boy. He strengthened it now, watching as her face became just a little duller.. more mindless. He ordered her to stand and then marched her into her own room, instructing her to prepare for bed.   
Once again he watched thoughtfully as she undressed, irritated at himself for being capable of finding a mudblood attractive.   
He sighed when she slipped the thin white cotton nightgown over her lovely naked form and, glancing behind, took two steps closer and ran his fingertips down the sides of her body over the gown. That was all. No more. It was bad enough that he’d allowed himself that. He had her slip into bed and then stupefied her without ceremony, placing her wand in her loose fingers. No doubt she would move to clench it later.

Returning to his own room he found that Draco had continued in the spirit of what he had demanded of him. He had removed his shirt.. shoes, socks.. He was standing beside the bed, unbuttoning his black trousers. 

Tom paused in the doorway, fascinated.   
The other boy was larger than himself. Probably physically stronger.   
The submission and unhappy acceptance on his face was both satisfying and unsatisfying at once however.   
He wanted to be desired.   
After the way the mudblood had sneered as she reminded him over and over that he was a child.. he wanted a partner who looked upon him with lust. 

Was it simply his body?! If he were but a few years older, would Draco now be looking upon him with eager anticipation?   
Perhaps the Malfoy heir was not naturally inclined toward those of the male persuasion at all. 

He moved closer, while the other boy slowly lowered his fly and slipped the trousers off, baring black underwear like small clinging shorts before he slid those too down, letting them drop to the floor uncaring.   
Tom tilted his head slightly. He was large..but not hard.   
Tom himself was growing hard, however.   
Perhaps.. it was sufficient.. this one time.. to make use of Draco without mutual pleasure.   
Or perhaps.. perhaps he could persuade him..to feel attraction. 

A black stain on the pale arm caught his eye.   
The mark.  
He had seen the boy .. he had felt the boy take it. But he had not seen the finished result.   
Draco stood calmly as he approached him. His expression was very nearly wiped clean. Only the barest discomfort remained at the corners of his eyes and mouth. 

“Show me your mark” he commanded softly, when he was close. 

The boy was more than a head taller than him. It was disconcerting.   
Draco offered his arm unhesitatingly. When Tom gripped it and turned it to better advantage in the light, Draco shivered. 

Examining the image, it appeared to depict a snake issuing forth from the mouth of a skull. The serpent then twisted into a figure 8. The symbolism of infinity was not lost upon him.. he wondered what had possessed him to use a skull, however. Had it been something as simple as the wish to make the mark intimidating and masculine? Was there some other meaning he did not yet understand?!  
Curious, Tom brushed his hand through the air a few inches above the black image. He could..feel the heat of the mark through the air against the palm of his hand. The hot throbbing in his mind had escalated to the point where it was almost hypnotic. Without really thinking about what he was doing he lowered his hand and stroked along the flesh of the tattoo. 

It was as if he had gripped a hot slippery eel somehow. The sensation in his mind changed at once and he felt something flare.. in him. Draco had gasped and was arching his back, gripping his upper arm as if to prevent himself from tearing it away from him.   
And then Tom felt an answering flare against his hand. The mark was heating.   
Draco whimpered very quietly and his eyes widened, flicking away.   
“I.. you’ve called him... I have to go to him now... He’ll... he’ll hurt me if I ignore the call.”

Tom frowned. No. Draco had to go nowhere. He was not releasing him yet.   
He attended to the mark again. If his other self could use it then surely there must be some way for him to...turn it off.. or something..   
He trailed a fingertip down the image, ignoring the pained shiver of the other boy as he pulled and tugged at the feeling in the back of his mind.. the intangible throbbing that had erupted into a blare of energy.. he needed to still it to that dull throbbing again.

Eventually he managed it. It flared again a moment later as if in reaction and he did the same thing once again. After two more attempts the thing was quiescent once more   
Draco calmed only barely however.   
“It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t hurt now... he knows... He knows..something’s happened. I’ll still have to go to him..to you. The other you.”

Tom frowned.   
Yes. It was too late to pretend now. He would have to take up contact with the vicious seeming creature that he had apparently become.   
But not now. 

“Lie down” he instructed quietly.   
Draco seemed unsure whether this was more or less terrible than having to go and see Lord Voldemort. Tom had no doubt that this Pansy Parkinson girl who had told him of what she’d heard would be much hated for having brought about this night.  
Nevertheless the boy retreated backward, gently reclaiming his arm and lowered himself to first sit.. and then.. hesitantly, to recline on the bed.   
He was very pretty, Tom thought. 

“Have you ever...done anything of this sort before?” he enquired softly. Draco’s mouth tightened and he nodded once. Tom felt incongruous relief. He didn’t want to possess Draco.. merely to use him..  
“Good.” He told him, and started on his own buttons. 

When he had reached the point of removing his trousers, Draco spoke, uncertainly.  
“How...is it .. that you’re so young?! Where did you come from...”

Tom glanced up and smiled fleetingly.   
“Another book... much like the one your father possessed. This was the physical age I entered it. I am not fourteen, Draco. If the word child falls from your lips at any point.. I will sew them shut.”

The other boy swallowed and nodded.   
“Hadn’t..crossed my mind” he lied. 

Tom pushed down his trousers, and underwear with them. His cock was at half mast. It had flagged somewhat at the thought that this boy might, like Hermione, consider him a child.. might be repulsed at the thought of touching him. He ignored the worry and moved to climb onto the bed and straddle the larger boy.   
The sensation of so much warm silky skin against his own most sensitive areas.. smooth against his thighs.. against his balls.. was wonderous He revelled in it.

“You may touch me” he prompted quietly. 

Draco hesitated and then lifted his hands gingerly and traced his fingertips up Tom’s thighs either side of his own hips.   
Tom shivered at the sensation for which he had thusfar no parallel. No one had ever touched him there before.   
He leaned forward over Draco and stroked a hand over the warm planes of his chest. He felt..good. It felt fantastic to touch him like this..   
The fingers that had slid up his thighs were tracing up his sides slowly, as if Draco were tentatively exploring him, in much the same way as he was examining the body beneath him. 

Curious, he leaned low and licked the centre of the boy’s pale chest. Trailing his tongue up between the understated pectoral muscles. He felt Draco shiver in response and the large hands slid around to skate up his back.   
He looked up at the surprised grey eyes, from his position crouching low against him and then moved to the right, till he could circle the boy’s nipple with the tip of his tongue. Draco blinked.. and his lips parted a bare centimetre.  
Tom wondered what he had imagined. Did he think that he was to be tortured?!   
He dipped lower till he could suck the tiny hardening bud gently. He heard Draco gasp softly and felt, below him, a faint twitch at the boy’s groin. It seemed that Draco might be animated to enjoy this after all.

Nibbling the hard little nub he scratched his fingernails lightly down the other side of Draco’s body, over his ribs. This caused a further, larger twitch below him and he began to find himself seated upon something hard. He released the nipple and kissed his way over to the other.. sucking and then nipping it more sharply, causing Draco to flinch lightly and grip him more enthusiastically with the hands that were tracing over his back.

He wasn’t certain whether he wanted to kiss Draco..

Compromising for his mouth’s apparent wish to be occupied on the pale flesh, while he made up his mind, he stretched himself higher, bringing his face nearer the other boy’s.   
The visibly shocked and perhaps even slightly pleasantly surprised, expression was gratifying. He nuzzled at Draco’s chin and nudged his face lightly to the side to gain access to his slender throat. It was bared without struggle and he adjusted his own position until he could comfortably lie along Draco’s length and bury his face in it.   
He smelled of warm masculine skin.. and a faint..delicate cologne. It was pleasant. He tasted..sweet... smooth.. 

When Tom licked a slick path up the straining tendon, he caught another soft gasp from Draco and the boy shifted beneath him, embracing him cautiously and pressing him harder against his own body.   
He rewarded it with a trail of little teasing nibbles before stroking a hand under Draco’s cheek and turning him to face the other direction that he might reach the other side of his neck too.   
Draco was breathing faster, it seemed and his eyes were almost closed, grey orbs barely visible through his lashes. 

Tom decided.   
He did want to kiss him.. Why give his first kiss to a mudblood..when a Malfoy apparently wanted him?! It would be better..

He moved up once again and leaned in close, brushing his lips lightly against the other boy’s.. not kissing him.. simply experimenting with the sensation. It tickled. He licked his lips. Then he licked Draco’s lips.. The low groan that the boy made went straight to Tom’s cock and then Draco had gripped him hard and crushed their lips together, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Tom reacted instinctively through the shock, accepting the tongue and widening his own mouth, imitating the gesture.   
It was the most mindlessly arousing sensation he had ever experienced.   
The boy’s tongue was hot.. slippery.. rough.. slick.. moving and delving and Tom loved it.. He ground his cock against the hard abdomen below.   
One of Draco’s hands slid down his back and hesitated over the curve of his arse. Tom was distracted by the mouth.. the tongue.. he didn’t react until he felt the fingertip brush over him in a rather.. intimate.. place. 

No. He would not be bottoming to this or any other boy! Not even if he was currently physically smaller!   
He pulled back from the kiss and shot a fierce glare at the silvery dilated gaze.   
Draco seemed to subside in mild pout and his hand moved away to grip the curve of Tom’s arse as he leaned up, seeking his lips once again.   
Satisfied with this, Tom moved back to tangle their tongues some more languidly. 

When Draco broke off the kiss again and started to press soft sucking nibbles to his jaw and then his neck, he thought he might literally purr with pleasure any second. It was a struggle to control himself, to keep himself from clenching at the large body.   
He was in this state of abject lust when the other boy carefully rolled them both on the bed till he was above him. Tom felt he should be rectifying the situation.. taking control back.. but then Draco was doing something wonderful to his neck while his fingers were moving over his body, stroking his skin.. plucking gently at his nipples..sliding lower..

He bucked helplessly when the large hand settled over his cock. Draco was able to enfold most of it in his hand. Swallowing, he allowed it. His body was screaming that to make that sensation stop now would be utterly and completely WRONG. It NEEDED to continue..   
He moved helplessly as he was manipulated into a quiet frenzy, feeling his own breath short. Draco squeezed him and stroked a few more times and then..shamefully.. he found he couldn’t stop the bliss that rushed through him. He exploded in the other boy’s hand, crying out softly against the lips that suddenly pressed to his own in a quiet smirk while Draco pumped him lightly, milking the last spurts from his cock. 

In the aftermath he was mortified. He had come almost immediately.. he hadn’t had the chance to do any of the things he’d wanted to do. Draco had seen how inexperienced he was!

Confirming this, the blonde whispered against his ear with a voice faintly dipped in arrogance “That was your first time.. wasn’t it?!”

He barely prevented himself from huffing angrily. It would be a childish reaction. Instead he collected himself and kissed the side of the smooth face, his arms loosely around the other boy’s body.   
“Yes... “  
To his surprise the blonde nuzzled against him and then moved to kiss him again, more gently.   
“I’m sorry..” he murmured against the corner of his mouth afterward. “If I’d have known.. maybe I’d have..

He shook his head. It didn’t matter.. It was done and he’d enjoyed it greatly.   
“ I have been... imprisoned..since I was truly fourteen years old.” He offered, knowing he was giving away vulnerabilities to someone who would probably know to make use of them.   
“I..hadn’t...considered this sort of thing important before it was no longer possible.” 

Draco seemed to sigh slightly.  
“You know.. you’re not at all..as I’d have expected..” 

Tom thought again of the cruel red gaze and supposed that that might be the best compliment he might hope for from the boy.

When Draco started to kiss him again cautiously, Tom hesitated and then responded, uncertainly.   
He still wanted him? He remembered that Draco himself had not yet come.. possibly he was still hoping to do so.   
Not principally opposed to this, he allowed himself to be pulled back into the cloying drug of the other boy’s lips, finding it was even easier to lose himself this time.   
But this time, Draco didn’t remain there, this time he started to kiss his way down Tom’s body slowly. 

It was, Tom learned, amazing.. to feel lips around his own nipple. It felt.. it felt... his mind wasn’t working properly to dissect the sensation. Draco’s hands were moving over him again, pulling his thighs gently.. coercing him to spread his body. The small prickle of fear he’d felt when the other boy’s fingertip had earlier ghosted over the entrance to his arse returned, warning him against such acquiescence, but he suppressed it for the moment, allowing the liberties Draco was taking. 

Merlin.. the feeling of the tongue licking down his abdomen. He was hard again and hoping that the blonde’s ultimate destination was his cock and not.. somewhat lower.   
When Draco started to lick up the faint sticky rests of his climax, with no apparent distaste at all, Tom could not, by best will, prevent himself from moaning and gripping the blonde hair, urging him on. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he heart a soft snort from the boy. It sounded amused.   
Then all thought ceased because Draco had without warning sucked his entire length into his mouth and the delicious pull.. the burning hot wet amazing suction was too much to feel and think at the same time.  
He groaned and bucked, pulling ineffectually at the other boy’s head which resolutely refused to be dragged or adjusted in any way, but simply drove him mad with long slow sucks all the way down to his root. He cried out when the slippery tongue slid out past his cock and swiped over his balls. This was the best thing he had ever felt. He wanted to live in Draco’s mouth. 

Draco pulled away as he was nearing his climax again. Tom groaned in disappointment. “Don’t stop!” 

“I want to fuck you” Draco growled low and licked his cock again. Tom shuddered in need.   
“No.. Just.. this..” he managed.   
Draco suckled on the head of his cock again and then pulled back once more.   
“You’ll enjoy it..” he cajoled.

No. Tom didn’t want that.. He didn’t want to give up that much control to the blonde, even if what he was doing felt very good..   
“No.. “ he insisted. “Suck me again..” 

Draco obliged and easily drove him to the edge of reason, till he was making little animal sounds helplessly, transfixed in the reeling of his own mind and the delight of the other boy’s mouth. 

“Please” Draco ground out. “I’ll make it good.”

Tom whined in frustration, trying to piece together his mind. What did the boy want!?   
“No, Draco. Stop asking. Let me come..” he mumbled, his head tossed.

Ignoring this command Draco took Tom’s tight balls in his mouth, cradling them on his tongue and drooling down over them, letting the warm saliva drizzle down below. Tom gasped and sighed.   
When the boy nudged him even wider and his tongue started to explore further down, it was a strange dangerous feeling that gripped him. A pleasure thickly striped with risk and fear. He wanted to struggle away but a slick hand suddenly took up his cock again and teased it slowly, carefully. It was so hard to resist.   
He felt Draco’s tongue slide through his crease.. slick over his entrance. He moaned and jerked away but Draco followed him and set to tracing circles around his anus with the slippery muscle. 

It did feel good.. it felt so good.. especially with that hand.. on his cock.. he knew he should stop him.. he needed to stop it now.. But at that moment Draco’s tongue delved into him, squirming past his resistance.   
He emitted a rather undignified squeak and arched his back helplessly. Draco’s tongue moved slowly in and out, fucking him. 

God. Merlin. Fuck. Someone... he couldn’t help moving against it, fucking himself on it. No.. he had to stop... 

Draco’s hand squeezed him again.. stimulating him to the edge of distraction and then something else that was hard stroked at the circle of muscle around which the entire world seemed to be revolving right now.   
For a moment his mazed mind thought it was a cock before he realised the anatomical impossibility of Draco’s tongue and his cock touching his arse at the same time.   
It was a finger.   
the panic in his mind ramped up several notches. Draco hadn’t penetrated him with it yet.. He was ...teasing him..   
“Stop..” he moaned, quite unable to move himself to act against what was happening.   
Draco responded only by redoubling the efforts of his tongue and hand. He started to suckle on the muscle of Tom’s arse. He was.. nibbling.. it was.. too good. Tom couldn’t persuade his body to move away..   
Just a bit longer.. then he’d stop him.. 

Draco’s mouth slipped away for only a second or two and Tom groaned in disappointment.  
Then the finger was back.. probing at him. Around it, Draco’s tongue flickered, slicking him further, tickling and probing.   
When the finger slipped past the tongue and he felt it actually start to penetrate him, he did jerk and try to move away. The hand on his cock sped slightly, tightening, holding him in place as if it were a handle.   
Tom whined and wound his pelvis, trying to eject the finger that was slowly moving in and out.   
“Stop, Draco..” he breathed, to no discernible effect.

“Shhh... just.. feel” Draco purred against his balls before he started to lick and wet them again, sucking them into his mouth.   
The overstimulation was exquisite. The finger moving in him didn’t feel such an intrusion with the hand pumping him and his balls in Draco’s mouth. He shifted and moved helplessly, rocking his hips. 

The second finger however.. changed that. It hurt!.. He yelped and tried to close his legs as it slowly wormed its way in next to the first. 

He would stop him.. He would throw him across the bloody room in a second and then he would curse him bloody. Damn opportunistic Malfoy.   
It would be so disappointing though, not to come.. Why couldn’t Draco have just sucked him.. instead of ruining it..  
And then the hand on his cock guided him back into Draco’s mouth and he sighed in relief even as part of his mind protested and reminded him of how he needed to be tossing Draco across the room now.   
The fingers in his arse moved slightly faster in time with Draco’s sucking.. it felt like they were twisting and moving in him slickly, The sensations were.... it was.. it was..good... He didn’t want it to be.. But it felt good..  
There was a pinching feeling as Draco seemed to part his fingers, but even that.. coupled with the tongue feathering up and down the length of his shaft... he moaned and rocked his hips faster..

“My cock.. will feel..better.. than this..” Draco murmured, pulling away from sucking him for only a moment.   
Tom shook his head blindly and reached for the other boy’s head, trying to pull him down on him again, trying to reach the point where he could come..

He cried out when Draco forced a third finger into his arse, pushing them more roughly now, twisting and splaying them against his tightness.   
“I want to.. I.. I’m going to fuck you..” Draco growled before he managed to swallow Tom’s entire cock and fit his balls in too.   
Tom yelped and held the other boy’s head, trying to thrust up into his mouth, but Draco was sucking him in place, not moving up and down. The feeling was one of hot wet tension and need.. it didn’t bring him closer to the point he desperately craved now.

“NO!” he hissed between his teeth. “Finish me..” he demanded. 

In response Draco sucked up his length and withdrew completely, even the fingers moving inside him slid away. Then the larger boy was crawling up the length of Tom’s body.   
He blinked up at him in horror. Draco was nudging his thighs wider with his own knees and leaning down over him. 

“Yes..” he growled and dropped down to roughly kiss him. “I’ll.. finish you..” he murmured between hard sucking kisses. “I..want you..” he gritted out.. 

Tom felt his slick aching cock brush ineffectually against Draco’s rock hard one bobbing above tightly. It didn’t relieve him. His flaring panic grew.   
Draco was moving above him as he kissed him, ...sliding.. ..slotting himself into place. His body felt much larger than Tom’s own suddenly. He felt large hands slide down the outside of his thighs, gripping him, pulling him up and guiding him to wrap himself around the other boy’s hips. 

“Let me..” Draco groaned against his neck. “You’ll like it.. I’ll be careful. Please..”   
He felt a large hot mass prod at his arse lightly. Draco didn’t wait for permission before he started to press forward. Tom clenched his eyes at the sudden pain..the invading cock caused. Draco had already forced his head into him and apparently had no intention of stopping.

“I SAID NO!! he yelled and flexed his wandless magic, flinging the boy away. He heard a cry of pain and a loud thud from the other side of the room as Draco crashed to the floor. 

Tom sat up, wincing at the unfamiliar pain in his arse and glared at the blond, crumpled on the floor looking dazed.   
The grey eyes flicked up at him in stunned terror. Obviously Draco had not realised that he mastered wandless magic. He had clearly thought that since Tom was not holding a wand, he would be the stronger.   
And now.. it was plain to see the fear of imminent punishment dawning in the wide silver gaze.

“Get out.” Tom spat at him, wandlessly flinging his clothes toward him.   
“Return when you have spoken with my other self”

This instruction bleached the boy whiter than bone suddenly. Tom smirked darkly at the thought of what he might do to him if..when he learned what the idiotic boy had tried to do.   
He frowned slightly, hesitating. If he sent the almost-rapist to himself with the knowledge of what he’d done, it was possible that he might not return at all.   
That would be counterproductive.   
He did not know how many other marked individuals he might have in Hogwarts to use as messengers.   
Still.. Draco would deserve it.

“I’m.. i’m sorry!!” Draco was stuttering, climbing to his feet gingerly. “I.. shouldn’t have.. But you were.. so.. so..” 

Tom dismissed the panic filled apology with a wave. 

“Dress. Leave. I will see you when you have a message for me from him.”   
He got off the bed and reached for his own trousers, dragging them on sans underwear and glaring in infuriated frustration at the blonde who was pulling on his clothes as quickly as humanly possible.   
Assisting him to get the fuck out of his quarters even more quickly, Tom used his wand to cast the reverse divesto.   
Draco was dressed again in seconds. He threw a wide eyed regretful glance back at him before he fled. 

In the stillness of the room Tom cursed soundly. 

Trust damned Abraxas’ seed to ruin what was almost an eminently satisfying experience, by being greedy and demanding.   
That was very nearly mandatory of all Malfoys. He should probably have expected it..   
Still.. it was-..

He admitted it to himself.

He was disappointed. ..He felt..regret. He should have sent the boy away after he’d sampled his memories. Now he was left with a sour little taste inside.   
And a sore arse. 

He healed that first and looked behind him at the disarrayed covers on the bed from their movements.   
Disappointing. Unsatisfying.. 

He felt ...  
it was a strange cold empty feeling.. He hadn’t felt it in so long.. he wasn’t sure what it was exactly.   
The thought bothered him while he went about finding a suitable hiding place for Draco’s wand.   
It played on his mind as he let himself into the bathroom and took a hot shower.   
It was still irritating him when he walked idly into Hermione’s room with his towel slung about his waist. 

Almost without thinking, he pulled back the covers of her bed and slipped in beside her, easing up against her and wrapping his arms around her sleeping body – at least he pretended to himself that it was merely sleeping and not stupefied into stillness. 

The feeling didn’t go away.. but it felt slightly better. He recognised it suddenly. It was loneliness. 

He buried his face against the small firm breasts of the older girl and inhaled her soft peach scent – which somehow refused to betray any faint hint of mud or uncleanness to his senses.  
It felt a little better to be close to her, than it had to be alone in his room.   
He would leave before she woke, he decided. He would only stay a short while and enjoy her warmth.. 

 

 

He must have slept.

His mind tried to piece reality together again. There was ..a loud.. high pitched.. voice.. calling him a worm.. a disgusting little worm.. It sounded furious.  
He couldn’t move.   
There was a wand at his throat.

He opened his eyes.

Beautiful.. 

The girl’s eyes were bright and flaring with rage. She was sitting up in bed next to him looking like the wrath of the gods. Her soft brown hair was loose and bed-tousled around her face  
She was so much prettier when she wasn’t under a compulsion curse, he thought to himself, admiring her.  
The wand at his throat dug in deeper.

“WHAT do you think you’re bloody doing here?!!” she demanded. “NAKED! In my BED!! HOW did you get in here?!”   
The brown eyes flashed with sudden vague memory and then brightened even more in fury. “WHAT DID YOU CAST ON ME?!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!!”  
The wand moved away for only a moment as she cast Priori Incantatum before it was pressed against his artery even harder.  
“I know that curse” she growled threateningly. “Tell me.. exactly.. what you did.. or I swear to God – I’m going to call Harry and encourage him to bloody finish you off!”


	9. Chapter 9

“WHAT do you think you’re bloody doing here?!!” she demanded. “NAKED! In my BED!! HOW did you get in here?!”   
The brown eyes flashed with sudden vague memory and then brightened even more in fury. “WHAT DID YOU CAST ON ME?!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!!”  
The wand moved away for only a moment as she cast Priori Incantatum before it was pressed against his artery even harder.  
“I know that curse” she growled threateningly. “Tell me.. exactly.. what you did.. or I swear to God – I’m going to call Harry and encourage him to bloody finish you off!”

He sat up, uncaring of the wand pressing into his flesh, ready to challenge her, the covers falling away from his small chest. Hermione’s eyes darted down for a split second before widening and being dragged back up to meet his own as a small blush erupted high on her cheeks.   
“Oh my GOD..cover yourself up! I don’t want to see you naked! For your information I have no paedophilic tendencies.” She flicked the wand in her hand and the blankets leapt up to his neck and forced him down onto the mattress.   
He scowled, resisting the temptation to release the charm wandlessly, and turned onto his side toward her, making the best of it and snuggling down under the covers. 

“Well?! WHAT did you do! You had me under the lesser imperius! If you don’t tell me i’ll... I’ll tell Professor Dumbledore!”

He smirked.   
“While I am certain that he would use legilimency upon me to attempt to determine what went on – I rather doubt you could ever be certain whether he found the truth or whether what he told you he found was what he saw.   
He would most likely tell you that nothing happened – in order for you to remain here. And he would impose further irritating measures upon me – which would place me in a somewhat less tolerant disposition toward you.”

The girl seemed to consider this for a moment. He watched as her brows furrowed slightly. Obviously she accepted the implication that Dumbledore lied when it suited his purposes.   
“I’ll get veritaserum..” she tried uncertainly.

He laughed openly. “Not that I doubt Dumbledore has any – but how exactly do you intend to explain to him that you require some?   
Perhaps you are capable of successfully breaking into and stealing from the portrait-guarded headmaster’s chambers – I know I never attempted it, and Dippet was rather oblivious and harmless in comparison with Dumbledore.   
...Or will you go to that suspicious looking fellow ‘Snape’ – he did not seem particularly accommodating when I met him briefly. I doubt he’d be inclined to dispense a ministry controlled substance to a student.. but perhaps you and he have an understanding that I am unaware of.”   
His gaze travelled down the front of her white cotton nightdress. It was too loose to really make out the contours of her luscious body but he could see that her small nipples were slightly pebbled. 

“You little pig!” she snarled, noticing where his eyes were fixed and folding her arms in front of her chest. She realised almost immediately that this prevented her from levelling the wand at him and unfolded them again, her incensed glare deepening further. With a few flicks she summoned and slipped on a large, shapeless, badly-knitted pullover in garish red with a large golden H on the front.   
He looked at it in distaste.  
“Well.. that’s certainly an improvement” he muttered dryly.  
The tiny blush reappeared high on her cheeks again as she snarled again. “Tell me what you did to me when I was under the spell or I’ll.. I’ll..”

Growing tired of the game now he cut her off - “Nothing. I did nothing to you. Why? Should I have?” 

Hermione’s eyes flared in anger again and she raised the wand threateningly. He rolled his eyes, dismissing it.

“I brought you in here and put you to bed. And then later-...”   
He hesitated. He had no intention of letting Hermione know that Draco had been here.   
“...It was so quiet and empty in my room.. and downstairs too – it reminded me of the diary... I sought...another face..to remind me that I was not alone. I came in. You were asleep.   
You looked so..soft..and warm.. I thought it might be acceptable to join you for...a very short while. It was not my intention to remain here. I was merely so comfortable... I fell asleep. I don’t know how. I certainly didn’t expect to.  
Nothing at all happened to you. I did not... fondle or mishandle you in any way. I slept. I...I have been having difficulty persuading my body to sleep, as you may or may not have realised.”

The girl looked slightly off balance at his explanation and a quick concerned, sympathetic, look flashed across her face before it was once again replaced by the dubious expression.   
“I don’t believe you.” She gritted out through her teeth. 

“That is your prerogative” he responded, closing his eyes. “Nevertheless – it is what happened.”  
He ignored his senses which were screaming at him that an angry witch had a wand pointed at him which he should certainly take away from her now.

“Get out of my bed!” Hermione growled, unmoved. “Go back to your room and never.. ever.. let yourself in here without my permission again! If you are unhappy sleeping alone – I am sure we can get you a..a.. teddy bear or something. I am neither your mother nor your security blanket and if i’m not hexing you right now it’s only because I don’t believe in using corporal punishment upon children.   
Now MOVE!”

His eyes had flicked open at the first demand he leave and by the end of her little rant he was sorely provoked. She had called him a child yet again. It was becoming more than tedious. He considered hexing her wandlessly.. he considered taking the wand from her and using it upon her.. he considered simply launching himself at her and overpowering her as he had before.   
He did none of those things. Instead he looked at the blankets pointedly. Hermione, realising her earlier charm prevented him from vacating the bed, released it. He threw back the covers from his body carelessly, noting the quick once-over he received from the young witch, and sat up, stretching and rolling his shoulders.   
He could almost taste her impatience behind him and took the extra time in rising slowly, absolutely certain that he would find her face red as a tomato if he glanced back over his shoulder.

He crouched gracefully to retrieve the towel he had discarded on the floor last night and shook it before fastening it around his waist and pacing in confident unhurried fashion toward the bathroom. Although he didn’t look back, he could somehow feel her eyes on him. She gave him no reason to pause or turn and he closed the door behind him.   
He was almost at the door into his own room when he heard her venting her irritation in a slightly muffled roar. He imagined her pressing her face into the pillow and screaming in frustrated anger.   
Smiling he altered course and turned on the shower, discarding the towel again on the floor before stepping inside. He took his time, enjoying himself, knowing that she generally liked to shower as soon as she woke and would now have to wait for the bathroom to be free.   
Thoughtfully he sniffed at several of her brightly coloured shampoo bottles until he found one that was not too girly and used a decent amount upon his own hair, massaging it in with his eyes closed. It was wonderful to feel the sensations of his body so strongly. He thought again on the events of the previous night.. how disappointingly Draco had behaved, ruining everything when the experience could have been so much more satisfying.. A waste. He had given the wretched creature his first kiss.. and to have Draco attempt to force himself upon him.. It was more displeasing than words could express. He hoped his other self had punished the youngest Malfoy severely for his impudence. 

When he was finished washing his hair he took the time to squeeze all of the non peach scented shampoos down the drain, replacing the empty bottles in their places with a smile.   
He had an idea on how he might find his way permanently into the little mudblood’s bed, without threats or drama. Indeed Dumbledore himself would order her to allow it.

Whistling contentedly he finished drying his body and sauntered into his room, the towel over his head, drying his hair.

The cough was neither polite nor soft. It sounded horrified and managed somehow to convey disapproval, disdain and disgust at once. He did not flinch although he cursed himself for his inattention. He had been in such a wonderful mood after the shower that he hadn’t noticed the little tingle in his mind. He noticed it now however. He could even identify it. It felt so similar to Draco. Similar but not exactly the same. And obviously the voice was all wrong for that boy. No. he’d stake money on the identity of the man in his room.   
Lowering the towel from his head he found himself faced with the miserable looking ‘Severus Snape’

“Get dressed.”   
The man put more icy venom into the two words than Tom would have ever thought possible to inject into the spoken word. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, making no move to comply. Let the man look upon him naked if it made him so uncomfortable. This was his room.. He could hardly be expected to emerge from the bathroom fully dressed. Serve the fellow right for intruding uninvited into this place.

At seeing the absence of shame and his distinct disinclination to obey, the crow of a man seemed to become even more sour. 

“I wish to speak with you. Clothing is not optional. Move..Mr Riddle. Unlike yourself – I do not have all day to waste.” He ground out between gritted teeth. 

Tom allowed the other eyebrow to follow the first on its upward journey. “It was not I that invited myself into your bedroom. You heard me in the bathroom no doubt. Did you think to put me on the defensive immediately?” He patted at his hair with the towel a last time and folded the soft fluffy fabric carefully, walking to the bathroom door and dropping it on the side. The elves would collect it the minute he stepped out of the room.   
The older wizard, who one had to assume possessed only a single set of robes, since he was wearing the same the last time Tom had seen him, seemed to stew slightly. Apparently he had been correct. The man had thought to throw him off balance with embarrassment at being exposed in front of a Professor.   
He smiled genially, not seeking to hide his body at all, and walked past Snape, opening the wardrobe and inspecting the contents as if he had all the time in the world. Inwardly he was wondering what exactly the man was here for. Would he be interrogating him today instead of Dumbledore? Had he been made aware through some kind of monitoring spell.. whether on the chambers or the necklace, of what exactly Tom had done last night with Draco and Hermione?   
Surely if there were such a spell in place, someone would have intervened?! 

Perhaps he had been mistaken about the Malfoy boy’s affiliations. Just because he carried a Mark did not mean necessarily that he was entirely loyal.   
For that matter.. he had no concrete assurances about the leanings of the beaky ‘Severus Snape’ who even now was trying to flay the flesh from his bones with a glare. The man carried a mark – he could feel that faint throb in the back of his mind. Nevertheless.. Dumbledore seemed very confident in him. Either way he was a deceitful individual. He would have to be cautious with him. 

“What was it you wanted?” he asked idly, fingering a pale blue cotton shirt with long sleeves. Ignoring the more garish garments he located a soft grey pullover vest and a pair of black trousers. He pulled them all out and hung them on the door. The man behind him did not respond immediately. Snape stood stock still, not a hair betraying his thoughts or emotions. It was unnerving. Tom made every effort to ignore him. In a drawer he picked out another brand new pair of the clingy little boxer shorts he had been given and slipped them on, fingering his slightly damp hair discontentedly and looking at the shirt.   
“Would you mind?” he enquired politely of the other wizard and gesturing at his hair. He could dry it himself wandlessly with no effort whatsoever but he was not supposed to be able to and had the feeling that asking the other wizard to do it for him would irritate him no end.   
Proving his intuition correct, Severus Snape’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally before he reluctantly withdrew his hand from his pocket, where it had almost certainly already been holding his wand, and cast the drying charm wordlessly. Tom ran his fingers through his hair combing it into the angles and falls he preferred. 

Once he was dressed he asked again, with marginally less patience “There – I assume this is adequate? Now get to the point of why you felt it necessary to interrupt me when you could reasonably assume I would be in an unclothed state.

The severe wizard stepped forward agressively, till he towered over him, looking down his nose. Tom forced himself not to frown as he wanted or to step away and betray his discomfort with the looming proximity of the man.   
“Do not employ that insolent tone with me, Mr Riddle.. Tell me ...Is there anything you would like to disburden yourself of regarding last night? Any event that might be considered... unusual..or disagreeable?...” The man’s eyebrows raised in a cruel query as he sneered. 

Tom experienced the tiny flutter and speeding of his thoughts that always accompanied the circumstance that he had done something against the rules for which he might possible be imminently caught. Obviously the man knew something.. there was no way of knowing exactly how much however. And one of the basic tenets of Slytherin house was to lie, obfuscate, detract and deny unless certain that the incriminating evidence existed. It was unthinkable for a Slytherin to confess to anything voluntarily. They would only admit to wrongdoing when it was proven incontestably and thus the confession unnecessary.

“I do not believe so. Why? Is there something you think I have I have done that you find disagreeable...Severus?”

The man’s gaze sharpened and he tilted his head slightly.   
“Do not test me Mr Riddle. Did you imagine we would not discover it? Your every move is observed. And you will address me as Professor Snape! I am your elder, your better and we are not on such intimate terms with one another. Do not make it any worse for yourself than it already is!”

Tom felt something that had been tight within him relax marginally. The man was probing. He did not know everything that had happened. He had realised nonetheless that Tom was guilty of something.. Perhaps he hoped that he would behave as the typical fourteen year old and err on the side of ‘not making it worse for himself’.   
He paused, thoughtfully, wavering between playing with the man and trying to get rid of him.  
“Actually you are at least twenty years my junior. Whether I am your better is a matter we might avoid debating at present. Was this why you sought me out this morning...Professor?! Because you believe I have done...something?..” 

The Professor’s face did not flicker for a moment. He extended and deepened the oppressive silence no doubt designed to extract the truth from children.

“Well.. as you do not seem willing to inform me what you believe I have done, we have reached an impass – perhaps we might discuss something else. You are, after all, a Potions Master, I gather. I am having difficulty sleeping – can you recommend anything that would allow me to do so without addicting me or inflicting unacceptable side effects?"

The other man’s face twisted into a sneer. Tom was surprised that he gave away so much emotion at this.

“You do not look particularly sleep deprived, mr Riddle.”

Tom considered it. No doubt the girl would tell someone that he had let himself into her room.. into her bed. And Severus obviously thought he had done something.. Perhaps a confession would.. but no. No.. He couldn’t know what the man suspected him of. He might simply be adding more fuel to the fire.  
“Last night was indeed unusual. For the first time, I slept for longer than an hour. However, I cannot reasonably expect those circumstances to repeat – therefore I am asking you – do you know of any potion or spell I might use on a regular basis without negative effects?"

“No.”   
The sound was like mausoleum doors slamming.  
All sleep potions are either addictive, cognitively dulling or both, as you may or may not be aware, Mr Riddle. You will have to reconcile your intermittent insomnia via other methods. Might I suggest warm milk before bed."

Tom ignored the jibe. It was becoming clear to him that he could not remain in the body of a fourteen year old indefinitely. He would lose his patience and hex someone for implying he was a child.

“I despise milk.. but thank you..Professor.” He said and turned away, moving to his bed and climbing onto it, reaching for the book on elemental magic that he had found in the downstairs bookshelves. It was one of the few there that he hadn’t read a hundred times already whilst in the diary. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was probably directing his reading through selective positioning of newer books among a large selection of dated ones that he could expect Tom had read. Which meant that he no doubt wished him to read this book. This was the reason that he had brought it upstairs. He had not however made any move to actually read it. There were innumberable spells one could place upon books to alter the reader’s thought processes. He had read about such spells at length with great interest. He would not read anything that Dumbledore had placed here for him, irrespective how friendly or obliging the man might act.   
The Professor seemed to ruffle slightly at his polite thanks and his eye skated over the book Tom held. 

“I will require access to your mind” he said abruptly. Tom’s eyes flicked up to him warily. Another legilimens then. That could be troublesome. He debated trying to refuse but if he said that he had only agreed to allow Dumbledore into his mind, no doubt the old goat would be here in person in a matter of minutes and would officially extend all of the promises he’d made to the Potions Master.  
He needed to take the time to practice legilimency upon the girl. There was unfortunately no one he could trust enough to allow him to explore the limits of occlumency.

“Now?” he delayed disingenuously.   
The potions master nodded curtly. 

Tom felt a frisson of panic. He had no idea how strong or how practiced the older wizard was in the art – he couldn’t be sure his forbidden forest occlumentic layer would hold up. The last thing he needed was the other man finding out about Draco..  
No one should know about that. He hoped his other self had obliviated the boy himself of the knowledge after he’d cursed him.  
And further.. if he found out about Draco, he’d find out that Tom had a wand hidden, disillusioned, inside the lintel outside the room on the balcony.

“Very well.”   
There was nothing else he could say. Refusal would only alert the man further that he had something important to hide. He had to hope that he was capable enough to deflect suspicion.

Snape approached him slowly, wand in hand. He raised it and levelled it upon him.   
Something in the man’s eyes told him that the potion’s master was tempted right now to use a different spell. Like Harry Potter, this was a man who desperately wished to erase him from existence. He strained against his desire to evade the wand and looked up calmly.   
The man did not utter the incantation out loud.. Tom simply found himself suddenly dealing with an assault upon his mind. He whirled and retreated defensively to the forbidden forest. 

He could feel the man inside it.. swirling around.. investigating..   
Retreating further into the forest that went on infinitely he felt the Professor follow. The man was using the same method that he himself had used upon Draco.. sensing the strength and the complexity of the illusion looking for the key.   
He would not succeed that way in Tom’s forest however. The same book that had suggested a rich complex illusory world had also cautioned against attempting to disguise or defend the key. No.. it should be a small insignificant thing among a vast number of similar things. In Tom’s case it had been a brown, curled autumn leaf, no less than three metres to the right of the Professor when he’d entered the forest. The deeper he moved, following the misleading trail of complexity and strength, the farther he distanced himself from it. Tom had already moved beyond the shield and was populating the misleading cache of “acceptable” memories with more recent exemplars that he could accept the Potion’s Master discovering: Himself reading in his room. The mudblood coming in and speaking with him. The mudblood leaving again, her back retreating from the room. He omitted the knock on the door and any view of her face that might display her spell induced state.   
After some thought he added himself passing into the bathroom and showering, allowing the feeling of diffuse disappointment and loneliness to seep into the memory. He added the memory of himself entering her room where she seemed to be sleeping peacefully and slipping into bed beside her.. the feeling of warmth and comfort and resignation. Her scent which did not evidence any trace of muddiness. Himself drifting into sleep, holding her and then this morning, waking up with a wand in his face. He omitted most of the conversation and shifted straight to her demand that he get out, her insults, his calm retreat and shower.. and the Professor’s interruption.   
And then he retreated further and waited for the man to find them and pick through them.

He was not disappointed. Snape found the fake key, a triangular stone upon the ground in a large clearing. He set upon it.. passed through it.. Not even attempting to communicate with Tom or cajole him – single mindedly he drove into the memories, picking through them to find the more recent additions, pulling them out one by one. Tom could feel nothing of his reaction to them.

Then he doubled back...

Tom panicked.. He could feel the presence retreating back to the forest.   
If the man were finished he’d simply withdraw. It meant that he did not believe what he had seen. He knew that it was a distraction from the true core of Tom’s mind.   
He was probing at random parts of the illusion. It would take a very long time for him to find the leaf but he would find it. He had to stop him! 

He pulled back from the shield layer and reached for the throb in the back of his mind, lighting it to a bright hum. 

A hiss informed him that he’d succeeded in activating the mark. In the next moment the man withdrew jarringly from his mind.

Tom found himself panting. He’d fallen down on the bed, slumped, in the course of the legilimentic attack. He looked up, surprised at his own exhaustion, and feigned confusion as best he was able.   
The potions master looked both furious and indecisive. Obviously he was suspicious of the very convenient timing of his call. 

“What is it?” Tom managed in a weak voice. “Are you finished?”

“For now” the growled reply came. “If I am to believe what I saw – you have last night assaulted Miss Granger – a witch who was, against my vociferous objections, placed here to ensure you remained safe and well. She will come with me now and if I have anything to say about it – she will not be returning to these quarters. It is as I told the Headmaster – you cannot be trusted. Any student left in your presence is in the gravest danger. I will not allow this farce to continue.”

Tom sighed long sufferingly. “I didn’t harm her. I simply..”

“Silence!” the dour wizard hissed viciously. “It does not interest me in the slightest whether you believe that you have wronged her. Your sense of right and wrong are skewed. You are a blight, Mr Riddle – upon the entire wizarding world but I will not allow you to destroy that witch!”  
He turned upon the ball of his foot and marched out of the room, slamming the door after him. 

Tom swallowed, trying to recover. He wondered whether Dumbledore had been ‘gentle’ with his mind in some way.. or only more subtle. It had been far more demanding to face Severus Snape than it had the headmaster. Logic dictated that that was impossible. Dumbledore had been a proficient legilimens when Snape was only a glimmer in his father’s eye.   
Something in the man’s tone also.. He had not seriously considered that Hermione might have any kind of untoward arrangement with Snape – and from her reaction it had been obvious that she did not. He, on the other hand, had sounded more specifically protective of her than of any vulnerable student. He would not allow him to destroy her.. particularly.   
Perhaps that could be useful..under the right circumstances.  
On the other hand..If they were to actually take Hermione away.. there would be no one to open the door and invite Draco inside – he would not receive any word back from his other self.   
He scowled and cursed himself for taking the chance and adding the memories of where he’d slept last night to the false cache. He had already warned himself not to allow the man to know that but had added it in the arrogant confidence that whatever happened – Snape would show the memory to Dumbledore, who would in all likelihood view it as encouraging and when he could not sleep alone...

But he had not realised that Snape had some kind of particular preference for the girl. If he were to successfully persuade Dumbledore to remove her...  
He did not throw the book across the room as he might have wished to. Nor did he exercise his wandless magic to riot and destroy the room. Neither course of action would be of any benefit whatsoever and he was not a child. He was not a teenager. Even if he might have experienced the momentary desire to have a tantrum.. he would not.  
Instead he abandoned the elemental magic book upon the bed and paced tensely, thinking of how best to proceed from here. What his options were should the girl be obliged to remain.. what he might do if she should be removed... From the bathroom door to the balcony door back and forth he walked, hands clasped at his back till finally, after perhaps twenty minutes of this, he stopped at the balcony and let himself out into the drab overcast day. The wind was chilly. Down by the lake he could see students walking, alone and in small groups.   
He remembered walking there not so long ago.. but it was stale. The water was without sensation.. without wetness.. there was no tang in the air.. no hush of the wind through the trees..   
Absently, he climbed up onto the thick stone wall surrounding the balcony. He could feel dense wards from here. Jumping would obviously be futile, even if he were of a mind to do so.   
He was not.   
He was of a mind to escape this cage and explore the world outside.  
Feeling the wards tentatively he determined that neither owls nor any other living being would successfully pass through them to reach his balcony. This would likely not be his best option should he attempt to escape. The floo downstairs would be similarly useless to him – he had no floo powder and it was probably warded from this direction unless a ‘guest’ had recently flooed in.   
The door then.. But only the mudblood could open it. He would need to examine the charms upon it more carefully tonight. With this thrice damned dog collar around his neck, he wouldn’t be surprised if attempting to pass through the doorway might be an intensely painful experience. He needed to remove the necklace.. or deactivate it somehow..  
But first things first. He needed to ensure that the Potions Master could not return later this evening and find his way into all of the memories he did not wish him to see.  
He calmed his breathing and settled his gaze upon the distant dark spikes of the forbidden forest. He would take this time to improve his occlumentic defences.   
It was obvious that he would require a lot more than the basic shielding he had set in place thus far. 

 

He stirred from his meditative state when the door to his room closed quietly. He would not allow himself to be surprised by Dumbledore again. He did not move or turn from his position on the wall of the balcony but was surprised to realise from the sound of the steps that it was not Dumbledore after all. No.. he knew that tread.. that pace...

“I take it I was right..” he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage

“Yes” she grudgingly said, sounding disgusted.   
He smiled to himself. He could hear she had come closer.. she was standing by the door to the Balcony. He wondered briefly whether she might be considering pushing him, before abandoning the thought. If she couldn’t hex him this morning then she certainly wouldn’t attempt to push him off a sixth floor balcony. Besides.. she was probably informed about the wards.  
He filed that thought away, although he doubted very much that she would know anything about them.

“Did you really expect him to behave otherwise?” Tom asked, curiously. “You are, after all, the representative for all those of lesser blood – Dumbledore was probably positively thrilled that I deigned to speak with you.. sought to be nearer to you – to touch you.. that I allowed myself to lower my guard sufficiently to sleep in your presence.   
It is, after all, what he wishes. To challenge my beliefs.. to rehabilitate me... To transform me into a tool that he might use against my other self.”  
The last part came out rather more bitterly than he might have wished.  
He heard the witch take another two tentative steps toward him.

“I’m...not sorry.. for reacting the way I did this morning. You cannot just take my wand and hex me when you see fit – and I don’t want you letting yourself into my room -or Merlin forbid, my bed.. either. I appreciate that you have been having trouble sleeping but that is just not acceptable. Do you understand?”

Tom shrugged. He understood. He merely disagreed.

“I mean it!” she said with more fire. “If you do it again, I’ll insist that he let me leave, no matter what he might say.”

Tom smirked and turned, swinging his legs up over the stone wall and jumping off lightly onto the balcony. He paced close to her, again irritated with the way he had to look up at her. She shouldn’t be taller than him. It was improper that he should have to look up at a mudblood.

“I promise nothing” he said softly. “And, truly, you did not expect me to. If you are still here.. it means that you have accepted that I will do as I wish. ...perhaps you even like it..” he reached out a hand and traced it over the soft skin of her forearm at her side. She pulled it away with a stricken expression. 

“That’s not true! I’m here because I was asked to stay – because there are some things that are more important than one person’s preferences. I’m not here because i’m inviting your nasty little advances. If you don’t stop it – I will hex you!”

Tom just smiled again. “We’ll see.”  
He moved to walk past her into the room and tossed back over his shoulder “I rather suspect that I will not be able to sleep at all without you beside me, Hermione. We shall see in a few days whether Dumbledore would rather persuade Professor Snape to relent and give me a potentially harmful potion, or simply encourage you toward a more open mind regarding sleeping arrangements.”

He heard her hurried steps pursuing him and then a hand on his shoulder spun him roughly.   
“You can’t do that! He’ll never believe it! He’ll know you’re just staying awake stubbornly to get your own way. I WON’T allow it! No matter what guilt treatment he might use!”

Tilting his head slightly he considered her before laughing softly.   
“And the delightful part is that you know that you are not telling the truth. You know that in three days time.. four at the most.. Dumbledore will virtually order you to invite me into your bed.. and you’ll comply.” He smirked at her, knowing it was adding insult to injury. “You could save us all the trouble and relent now. You know I’ll get what I want eventually.” 

He watched her waver indecisively. She could see the probabilities herself, obviously – and it seemed she had committed herself to achieving whatever Dumbledore wanted to achieve here.   
“No..” she insisted stubbornly. 

He shrugged, walking away again. “Suit yourself. I’d like you to bring me some books from the library today, if you would. Nothing older than 1970 – the topics i’ll leave entirely up to you.”

Her bristling was almost tangible in the temperature of the air. “Why would I bring you something you could use to keep yourself awake and distracted. It would probably be in my best interests to remove all the books from these chambers and force you into boredom so you’ll sleep.”

He turned back and offered her a piercing gaze. “At present – you have no idea what is in your best interests Hermione. Bring me the books and don’t be cheeky. I will expect your return no later than three this afternoon. If you are late, I shall be...disappointed in you. I would also prefer you did not squander the time visiting the red headed buffoon. You may leave now.” 

Greatly enjoying her appalled indignant gape he tossed himself onto the bed and picked up the book on elemental magic once more.   
When she still hadn’t moved he glanced up at her and raised his eyebrows. “You are still here. And on your own time too. I’m flattered. However, if you don’t leave now I will have to assume you wish to invite me to further explore the uses for that pretty little O you’re making.  
Her mouth snapped shut and she virtually dashed from the room, furiously.  
He heard the door downstairs slam loudly 

Satisfied, he wriggled down in the bed and, keeping his eyes blankly fixed on the open book before him, slowly let himself slip back down into the recesses of his mind. He had built four defensive layers in the preceding hours.. but he suspected he needed more. He needed something that was not written about extensively in dated books; something of his own. For a moment he wished fervently that he could speak with his other self. No doubt he had already thought along these lines and had developed effective protections.  
No matter. If he had come up with them once, he could do so again.

 

At three pm by his wandless tempus all was still in the head boy and girl’s chambers. He had roused himself a short while before, relatively content with the complexity and degree of innovation of his occulementic defences, and ventured downstairs to wait for the mudblood to return.   
He hadn’t expected her to be back in time after the way she fumed out of the chambers earlier, so it did not surprise him to find himself waiting, but he wanted to make absolutely certain when she returned in order to inform her of exactly how late she was and set her punishment accordingly. Thus he waited in the chair by the fire, turning his thoughts to the necklace he wore. He could not help probing it magically while he waited - like a chipped tooth that the tongue returns to again and again.   
With increasing focus on the necklace he grew impatient for the dratted girl to return so that he could deal with her, get through the evening as quickly as possible and then, when she was sleeping, retrieve Draco’s wand and work with more precision on the matter at hand.

He was eating a thick creamy mushroom soup that an elf had brought when the door finally opened. He laid it aside and looked up.  
Although it was possible that the girl had shrunk the books he had requested and had them in the rather tight pocket of her trousers, he thought it more likely that she had simply refused to bring them out of temper. He added it to her tote of transgressions as she stopped in the doorway, their eyes meeting – his calm and evaluating, hers narrowed and challenging.   
Another figure stepped into the doorway behind her.   
The green eyed boy. His enemy. Harry Potter.   
She had disobeyed him thrice then. Late.. without what she had been sent for.. and with company that she had specifically been told not to bring here.   
He acknowledged it silently and then laid the ire aside. While the boy was here he would be polite and non-confrontational. Harry Potter had already shown a propensity to hex him unhesitatingly. 

“No books then?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“No.” she said shortly and stepped aside for Harry to enter. The boy was wearing a grey tee-shirt and dark blue jeans that were snug on his hips. Tom supposed he should at least be glad that the redhead hadn’t come along.

Outside the door, Harry had worn a fairly amiable expression – the moment he stepped in however it turned thunderous like day to night. Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly and then scrambled out of the chair in an undignified manner as a hex sped toward him. He heard the door close quietly

“Now listen to me you twisted little runt – I might not be able to talk her out of this insanity – but I can hurt you every time I hear you’ve done something I don’t like.” 

Tom peered around the chair at Harry just in time to catch an orange bolt to the forehead. Either Harry had brilliant timing and aim or he was extraordinarily lucky. A horrible dull thudding migraine exploded in his head from the hex. 

“And I don’t like it when you touch her!..” 

Tom skittered backwards on hands and feet as the chair he was crouched behind moved swiftly away from him, steered by Harry’s wand. His head was pounding. He scrambled behind the sofa, narrowly avoiding another hex and concentrated to wandlessly remove the first curse.   
“Harry! That’s enough now. Stop!” Hermione was demanding, sounding more than a little worried.

“I don’t like it when you threaten her!”  
A hex struck the fireplace over his head and broke off the edge of the carved stone, sending fragments of the ravenclaw eagle’s tailfeathers flying. Tom swallowed. This was getting serious. 

“I don’t even like you looking at her!” Harry yelled, incensed.  
He felt the entire sofa behind him shifting as the boy, who he now realised must be far more powerful than he appeared, levitated it away and to the side.

Obviously, if Dumbledore or anyone was monitoring this place, they either didn’t detect anyone else’s hexes, or weren’t inclined to step in and stop this before someone got hurt.

Making up his mind he turned and summoned Hermione’s wand. The girl squeaked and grabbed at it fruitlessly as it was pulled from her hand. “HARRY! MY WAND!!” She yelped, alerting him to the danger.   
The wand sailed smoothly into Tom’s hand and he felt it quiver unhappily in his grip. Nevertheless, it obeyed. Much like the girl herself he mused briefly.   
In one move he stood and flicked off a strangulation hex in the direction of the green eyed boy. Said green eyes widened as he leapt out of the way and responded in kind.   
Tom smiled wider, throwing up a shield that harmlessly absorbed the blasting hex, growing stronger from the foreign magic. This he had spent a considerable amount of time working on.. certainly months. It was not as effective as it eventually would be when he perfected it. At present he could only reclaim circa forty percent of the energy of the captured spell.   
The slow wasting hex he sent in answer was dispelled with a quick basic-level protego.   
Tom blinked, amused at the clumsy defense, his shield effortlessly absorbing the next two spells the boy sent at him. They were powerfully cast but rather simple hexes in nature. He stepped aside for the next – which he didn’t recognise. The purple stream passed him with a hiss. It would probably have been equally well handled by his shield but it didn’t pay to take chances with unknown spells. He cast three rather nasty hexes in quick succession, anticipating where the boy would try to dodge and catching him in a crouch on the third. Harry gave a cry and collapsed, shaking and cramping.   
Good. He had intended that one to catch him. He would be unable to use a wand for hours. 

It seemed that Harry was realising this himself as he tried to force his unresponsive fingers to pick up the wand that had clattered to the floor beside him.   
Tom was privately impressed that the boy had enough self control to even move his arms. He was perhaps familiar with tolerating pain. His arms were visibly cramping and quavering and still he was brushing his fingers over the wooden shaft of his wand, trying to make them bend enough to grip. His teeth were gritted tightly.

Stalking toward him slowly, wand trained on Hermione, who was standing like a stunned mullet looking horrified, he considered the boy critically. He was quite powerful.. but apparently his repertoire of spells was rather slim and he was defensively weak.   
Actually that was an understatement – the boy virtually lacked any defensive capability at all. He was quick.. but Tom wondered why he hadn’t even tried to erect a simple shield

“As I understand it – you are my mortal enemy” he commented conversationally. Hermione chose that moment to dive for Harry’s wand.   
He had expected it from the way she had been tensing her body. Curious what she might produce, he allowed her to snatch the wand from where Harry’s dead fingers were scrabbling over it futilely.   
She seemed surprised that he hadn’t hexed her yet but steeled herself and concentrated. A pale yellow flash raced toward him. He was pleased that she was able to cast silently, although he supposed he shouldn’t be – she was after all in her seventh year. One would expect a modicum of ability at seventeen – particularly from one touted as ‘the greatest mind to pass through Hogwarts since his own time’. He took the second, in which the spell seared through the air toward him, to modify his shield. When the hex struck he could identify it as a strong tranquilizing spell. It would likely bring down a manticore if cast well. It was weaker than it should have been though. The yellow should have been vibrant. The washed out colour suggested to him that Harry’s wand was not obeying her adequately.

She looked shattered that the spell had failed – unsure what to do now. He saw the answer dawn on her and stunned her just as she was beginning the wandwork to summon a patronus. Considerately, he caught her with an immobilus before she could crumple bonelessly to the floor and possibly crack her skull open on the stones. It would be a waste if she were concussed and unable to appreciate her punishment later. She drifted down slowly as he lowered her gently to the ground. 

Harry was struggling to produce more than inarticulate growls and sounds. 

“Trying to speak is pointless. You have surely realised that by now?! Your vocal chords are affected by the hex. Never fear however.. we can still communicate.” He moved close to the violently shaking and spasming boy who was unfortunately probably going to have to die. It seemed a waste really. Harry was far more attractive than Draco. Inwardly he sighed and raised Hermione’s wand to cast legilimens.  
As if Harry knew what he thought to do he clenched his eyes closed and shook his head. 

::Don’t:: he managed to hiss faintly. It was no more than a breath

Tom quirked in delight. He’d never heard another person speak the language – well.. other than in Draco Malfoy’s memory. It sounded different when Harry was so close.. and in so much pain. He leaned closer.   
::Why not?:: he hissed back – primarily interesting in making the boy speak some more.

::just don’t:: Harry barely whispered. 

::Open your eyes or I will slice off your eyelids:: he threatened in a friendly tone. The boy twisted his head away. ::Let her go first:: 

Tom laughed and spoke “Hermione belongs to me, whether or not she realises it yet. If she’d simply done as I instructed and brought me something to read from the library this afternoon then I would have been quite content. Instead she defied me, obliged me to wait several hours for her, and to make matters worse – brought you here. I’ll remind you that it was you who attacked me... No.. I will have to discipline her for her behaviour tonight. However.. she is an intelligent girl. No doubt she will learn quickly.”   
Harry emitted a grunt of pain as a particularly nasty cramp across his abdomen bent him like a whip.   
::not.. yours.. mine.. i’ll ..protect her... from you..:: Harry hissed with great difficulty.

Tom laughed, honestly amused. Harry was more foolish than he had seemed initially. Didn’t he realise he was going to die?   
That thought reminded him.. it would be wise not to waste too much time dithering with the boy, even as fascinating as it was to hear him speak the serpent language..   
it would be frustrating to be stopped by Dumbledore or Snape in the last minute. Nevertheless, against his own better judgement he continued provoking the boy.  
“How will you protect her?! You did not stand a chance in that duel. I could have put you down with my first hex, had I wanted to - and I am disadvantaged by a foreign wand. You would not even have won, had I been wandless. I have no idea how you imagine you are to defeat my other self who will be fighting with my wand and an army of well trained soldiers.”


	10. Chapter 10

It was beautiful to watch the boy’s face crumple as despair compounded the agony he was already in. He opened his gorgeous green eyes and glared up at Tom  
::I killed you when I was eleven.. I killed your basilisk.. killed a diary horcrux that was even older than you.. I’ll kill you too.:: he hissed daringly.

“I wonder.. will you be able to do so if your brain and internal organs are removed and placed in small clay pots beside your corpse” Tom responded, smiling and raised Hermione’s wand, preparing the Egyptian burial spell. It was generally cast upon a subject that was already dead, however its parameters were quite suited to bringing about that state too, he had always thought. He’d never had the chance to see its effect on a living body and was quite interested in the result.

Harry seemed to realise suddenly that this was serious and that help was apparently not coming. He struggled. Tom could see him fighting against the curse and trying to command his body to obey.   
::NO!:: he hissed vehemently. And then, with only a slight hesitation he spat, obviously very much against his preferences – ::Please..::

“What was that?” Tom pressed nastily, leaning down over him and cocking an ear. “I didn’t quite catch it.. Logic suggests to me that you must have been trying to beg for your sorry life. You weren’t doing a very good job.”  
He pressed the tip of Hermione’s wand to Harry’s cheek.   
A strange quiver streaked up his spine. He blinked in shock. 

::Please...Tom..:: Harry hissed grudgingly. ::Let me live::

He would have laughed at the piss-poor effort if he weren’t so perturbed by the strange feeling that he was suddenly sharply aware of again now that he was connected to the boy through the wand they were both touching. It was nothing like the feeling he got when Draco or Snape were in the room.   
He frowned slightly and reached for Harry with his other hand, laying it upon the boy’s arm below the teeshirt he was wearing. The moment their skin touched he was seized by a sensation like electricity, racing up and down his nerves pleasantly. Harry’s back arched and he emitted a high pitched whine.   
Tom removed his hand again, confused by what had just happened and by the observation that he hadn’t wanted to remove his hand. Rather he’d wanted to increase the sensation.. touch more of Harry’s skin. It went beyond a simple attraction.. it was like a magnetic pull. Touching the boy felt.. peculiar. It felt.. familiar and odd at the same time.

Curious, he used Hermione’s wand to summon Harry’s one from the stupefied girl’s hand. The moment it landed in his palm he felt a strong surge. It was like holding his own wand. It felt almost perfect. He sighed and twisted it this way and that, enjoying the slight hum in his veins. His own wand was more visually appealing, he thought. It was pale yew and not entirely straight – it had several mild twists in it and it was sharper at the point.. this wand was dark..straight..rounded at the tip. Acorn he thought or perhaps oak. The striations were all wrong for birch.   
Harry’s wand felt so right that it was disturbing.   
The boy in question interrupted his thoughts with a soft pained sound as the muscles of his thighs cramped. This curse was rather unpleasant, Tom knew – it was why he had chosen it. It had been likened to the sensations associated with recovering from prolonged cruciatus exposure. At his whimpers, Tom turned back to Harry with interest. His teeshirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a pale sliver of abdomen above the dark blue jeans. He used Harry’s wand to nudge the teeshirt higher still, revealing the tight cramped muscles of the other boy’s abdomen. 

Harry wisely did not say anything, although he looked at him with something akin to horror.

“What is it about you?!” he wondered aloud to him. “What does this feeling mean?..” He punctuated his question by trailing a fingertip down the centre of the lean abdominal muscles. It felt like his nerves were purring in pleasure even as the boy on the ground twisted and whimpered, trying to get away. He pressed his entire palm to the hot smooth skin and the sensation increased tenfold, leaving him gasping and wide eyed. 

Harry yowled and struggled.  
::Stop it.. let go! It hurts:: he hissed urgently. 

“It doesn’t hurt me” he answered, sliding his palm higher beneath the teeshirt, toward Harry’s chest. His body felt somewhat similar to Draco’s although perhaps Harry was slightly less broad shouldered.. his chest less muscled. He realised suddenly that, irrespective how perfect the opportunity at present, he could not kill Harry until he understood the reason for this bizarre connection.  
So reconciled he reached behind himself and slid Harry’s wand into the back of his trousers out of the way and used both hands to tug the weakened boy’s teeshirt all the way up.

::What are you doing?!:: Harry hissed in fright. ::Stop.. please stop.. I don’t want...:: he sputtered, the hisses difficult to understand as he fought against the pain and tried to crawl away. His elbows and his feet lacked the strength to pull him away however. Tom smirked at his pathetic state. Trapped and defenceless. The idiot had yet to realise the extent of his predicament.   
Harry’s bright Avada eyes blinked rapidly, wide and pleading, like the last puppy dog in the pound.   
::please..:: he managed – as if this magic word could release him from the pain.. as if Tom would suddenly say – ‘oh please, you say?! I must have misheard you before.. I’ll take off the curse and let you be on your way at once.’

Tom tilted his head and smiled down at the other boy. “Perhaps I won’t kill you.. I’ll decide afterward.” He tapped Harry’s wand once casting the divesto upon him. His shoes and socks flew off. The dark blue jeans unbuttoned themselves and squirmed together with Harry’s white Y fronts down tense cramping legs even as Harry’s arms were flung up when his teeshirt made a break for freedom. He was left naked on the cold stone floor wracked by a wave of cramps and shakes from the exertions of his limbs. He gasped and bit his lip in pain, eyes clenched shut. 

Tom looked over the body spread before him. Like Draco, Harry was much bigger than him physically.. caught in that halfway state between boy and man. A few small curled hairs grew on his pale chest. His neck was long, the sinews standing out with exertion. He trailed his gaze further down and found himself torn between various points of fascination. The first was the heavy limp cock lying flaccid against the other boy’s thigh. Harry was circumsized. His meaty length was impressive even in a limp state. Secondly - he had no pubic hair. Or rather – he probably shaved his pubic hair, for whatever reason. It was most curious, Tom thought. Lastly there was the small tattoo that nestled in the left hand hollow of Harry’s pelvic bone. It was a flower..a lilium candidum if he wasn’t mistaken – a Madonna lily. A strange thing for a boy to choose to have tattooed upon himself. 

::seen enough?!:: the hiss sounded pained, embarrassed and nervous at once. He blinked and looked up at the narrowed green eyes, noting the furious blush on the boy’s face. 

“No.” he answered honestly. “You are very easy on the eyes. Why do you have a Lily on your hip?”

Harry blanched at the compliment, apparently mortified that Tom found him attractive, and turned his face away with effort. ::you don’t need to know that::

Tom frowned mildly. “It was idle curiosity. You’re right – I don’t care enough to force you to tell me”  
He cast the divesto upon himself, raising his arms for the sweater vest and his shirt to free themselves and shuffling to allow his trousers to escape. The stone floor was cold and hard on his knees and he cast a cushioning charm on it, extending the effect to Harry as an afterthought. 

::What are you going to do?:: Harry asked with deep suspicion. Tom wasn’t sure himself. He only knew that he wanted more skin contact with Harry. To this end he ignored the question and moved forward, climbing carefully until he could kneel astride the other boy’s hips. Harry was so warm and the tingling electricity when applied groin to groin was an entirely different sensation! He hissed in exultation, throwing his head back and knowing that he was hardening rapidly. The feeling was apparently very different for Harry who yowled like a skinned cat and struggled violently, hissing pleas and finally discovering how to truly beg.   
Tom squirmed and then bent down quickly, laying his entire body over Harry’s. The exponential increase in the feeling strumming all of his nerves nearly made him come. His entire body was humming and prickling deliciously.   
::Feelss good..:: he hissed close to the other boy’s neck, his own eyes closed in rapture.

Harry’s hiss sounded somehow whiny ::Take the hex off.. it hurts..::

Tom actually considered it in his extremes of pleasure. But if he took it off then Harry would be resistant. He would be violent again.. So much easier to enjoy him like this.

He pressed his face against Harry’s neck, stretching his arms out along those of the other boy. It seemed it felt better and better the more skin contact he could get. He thought suddenly of how it had felt to be sucked by Draco. How much better might that feel if Harry’s mouth were doing it?!   
Of course, no power on earth could persuade him to put his cock anywhere near Harry’s teeth right now... but there was another option, of course. He had intended to do it with Draco last night before he’d gotten carried away and allowed the boy to dominate him. Harry would be much easier to handle..

::I think i’m going to fuck you:: he murmured close to Harry’s ear in what would have been a conversational tone if it had not been husky with his own pleasure. Harry started to struggle again immediately, roaring inarticulately through his dulled vocal chords, while Tom held on to his bucking body, waiting for him to tire himself out.   
Eventually he did. Tom rubbed his hard cock against the other boy’s groin. Harry was not hard. He wondered whether it was the pain or whether Harry just really wasn’t at all attracted to males.. or to him.. 

Probably a mix of all three, he decided. It didn’t matter really. He didn’t require active participation.   
With the utmost reluctance he drew away from Harry’s body and got to his feet.   
The green eyes staring up at him looked relieved. 

“Oh I haven’t changed my mind” he told him with a cold smile. “I just need your wand in order to turn you over and lubricate you. Perhaps if you ask nicely, I’ll prepare you a little before I start.”

::you’re not really going to.. are you?:: Harry hissed sounding very frightened. ::You wouldn’t.. I mean.. Voldemort’s not gay! How can you be?! Don’t do this! Please don’t. I don’t want to.. I don’t even like guys that way..”

Tom shook his head incredulously. “I’m not gay, Harry – weren’t you worried about what I might do with the little mudblood over there? I am bisexual. As is, no doubt, my other self. Assuming he isn’t sexless in that body. And although it might make things more convenient, in the end – I really could not care in the least whether you are attracted to males or females. You will not be called upon to fuck, therefore it is irrelevant what arouses you. You are the receptive party in this interlude. Your role is to lie in the manner in which I position you and be as little trouble as possible while I sate myself upon you.”  
This explanation sufficient he flicked the wand, levitating and flipping the boy, who immediately began struggling again.   
“Remain still, Harry – you are only hurting yourself with your wriggling. You can not escape.. even if I were to stand back and watch you would be unable to crawl to the door and let yourself out. Stop being a child about this and accept what is going to happen.”

::NO! I won't just lie back and let you fucking rape me!!” Harry struggled and managed to curl his body up on his side. He tried again and again but couldn’t move himself any further. Tom watched the tears slide down his red cheeks. He couldn’t be sure whether they were from pain, despair, shame or frustration. 

Slowly Tom approached, narrowing his eyes critically. “If you stop resisting.. I may be willing to replace your hex with one that does not hurt.” he offered 

Harry seemed to weigh this up. Tom could almost see the thought plastered across the Boy’s face – he was obviously a Gryffindor. He was thinking that if it did not hurt so much, he might be able to fight back.  
::Yes:: he said finally. ::please::

Tom moved a little closer until the tops of his kneeling thighs were pressed against the underside of Harry’s. He could see the other boy forcing himself not to jerk away and set of another chain reaction of spasms and cramps.  
Flicking the wand, Tom cast a new hex. It was a strong weakening hex. The boy would not be able to move his limbs at all independently, but there would be no pain at least. When it had settled he cast the countercharm for the pain curse. Harry’s face relaxed visibly. It seemed that his entire body lost the tight twanging tension that had been galvanising it. He looked suddenly soft and languid.  
“Th..” Harry coughed slightly and then muttered a passably coherent “thanks.”

“What does it feel like for you when I touch you?” Tom asked with great curiosity. Harry’s eyebrows bunched momentarily and he swallowed. It seemed he didn’t want to answer. Tom leaned over him, parting his own thighs slightly and pressing his groin against the underside of Harry’s arse before leaning down and curling his body around the other boy’s.   
Harry took a deep quavering breath and his eyes slipped closed.  
“It..feels like..electricity.. inside..” he whispered unhappily, as if admitting a shameful secret.

“A very..muggle.. description” Tom criticised, brushing his fingertips up Harry’s chest and back in parallel. It elicited a low groan from the incapacitated boy beneath him.   
This was much better than Draco, he decided.   
That thought made him wonder suddenly whether what Draco had done to him might have a similarly persuasive effect upon Harry. He moved back slightly, smiling at the soft disappointed sounding breath from Harry when their skin parted completely. He used the wand to reposition him on his back with his legs parted.   
The fearful expression was back on the other boy’s face and he closed his eyes, grimacing unhappily. 

“Don’t make that face.. You’ll like this - trust me..”

Harry snorted harshly. “Trust you?! I wouldn’t even trust you as far as I could throw you. Hurry up and get whatever sick little fancy has gotten into your head now over with.”

Tom felt his upper lip curl slightly and had the temptation to put the pain curse back on the wretched creature.  
As if Harry sensed the direction of his thoughts he swallowed and added “please. Please just... do whatever you’re going to do. You know I don’t want this. The sooner it’s over the better”

Methinks the lady doth protest too much, Tom observed to himself as he crawled forward slightly until he knelt in the apex of Harry’s thighs. When his knees touched the sensitive skin of the other boy’s inner thighs Harry gasped and bit his bottom lip, although his body remained entirely quiescent. Tom noted that his cock was not entirely limp anymore.. although it was by no means hard. He reached out to either side and laid his hands lightly on the smooth calves of the other boy, feeling a slight prickle there. Did Harry shave his legs too?! That was downright bizarre. He wondered what reason the boy might have for it.   
As if he were reading his mind, a slight blush high on his cheeks, Harry stated softly “I’m not a cross dresser or anything. It’s just for quidditch. I’m a seeker.. sometimes I have had to tape my shins.. it hurts like hell to take the tape off when it’s stuck to your hair – even with magic.” He swallowed and added self consciously “just.. in case you were wondering.”

Tom filed this information away.   
“and your pubic hair? Do you have to tape that too?!” he asked with a smirk. Harry’s blush deepened. 

“n-no. I just..prefer it like that..” he said with embarrassment, keeping his eyes closed.

Tom’s hands grazed over Harry’s knees and reached his thighs where there were a few short black hairs. He circled his thumbs on the inside of the boy’s thighs slowing the progression of his hands ponderously, the closer he came to Harry’s groin. He could see that the boy’s breathing had sped up. His cock had perked slightly too.   
Fascinated, he leaned down and huffed a hot breath over the head. Harry gasped and his cock hardened further. 

“you’re.. you’re going to-...” he asked obliquely, sounding shocked. 

“mm” Tom answered softly and flicked his tongue out, licking a trail up the side of the thick cock experimentally. Harry groaned and then his eyebrows drew inward in confusion. 

“I.. haven’t ever.. I mean.. I.. i was..waiting.. I’ve never done this before”

Tom felt a warmth at that information. He would be the first to ever touch Harry.. it was followed by a sharp stab of disappointment over giving his own first experiences to Draco. How much better it would have been if he and Harry had discovered this together.   
On the other hand, he suspposed – if he hadn’t been upset over Draco, he probably wouldn’t have slept in Hermione’s bed and Harry wouldn’t be here now.   
And at least now he had some idea of how this was done. 

“I’ve never done this either” he found himself confessing, unsure why. 

He watched as a pearly bead of precum formed on the tip of Harry’s cock. Curious, he slipped the entire head of Harry’s cock into his mouth and sucked, surprised at the salty taste. Harry seemed to like that a lot. He was gasping and mumbling something. Tom glanced up before releasing the head from his lips. It had tingled on his tongue, like licking a weak repelling ward, except that it had felt attractive. Harry groaned in disappointment at the loss of sensation. 

“Does it feel better than when I touch you with my hands?” he asked although he could already guess the answer.

“yes..” the other boy breathed. “could you.. my balls..”

Tom smirked. Requests already. So much for ‘i don’t like guys.’ He decided to appease him and lowered his face, pressing his lips gently against the silky skin of Harry’s left ball. He heard him moan and wished for a moment that he could trust the other boy enough to drop the hex he held him under. It would be better if he could feel Harry rocking his hips and urging him into the places he wanted. He set to bathing each ball in turn with his tongue, enjoying the increasingly animal groans that the other boy was making. When he had sucked them gently he pulled back and returned to the large cock that was now standing proudly at attention, bobbing several inches off Harry’s abdomen. He licked his hand and cupped Harry’s balls even as he traced his tongue up the thick vein running up the underside of his cock. Harry swore under his breath, his eyes clenched. 

It was a good time to start preparing him, like Draco had last night, he thought. He reached for the wand with his other hand even as he began to methodically lick up the sides and front of Harry’s cock. He knew the spells he wanted to use. He’d had decades to think about this and Slytherin’s library held some rather explicit and intriguing texts on the subject of sex magic. He cast the colonic spell first. Harry reacted immediately, spilling forth protests and demands which Tom ignored. These all died away the moment he slipped the head of his cock back into his mouth. Harry made a high pitched kind of whine.   
“deeper.. please.. go deeper” he pleaded. Tom took the opportunity to press the tip of Harry’s wand to the boy’s arse and cast a lubricating spell. It was a spell particularly created for anal sex due to the way that it inhibited only pain sensations, allowing the free transmission of pleasure.   
He precluded Harry’s likely protests by forcing himself to take more of the thick cock into his throat. It wasn’t easy. Harry was too big to fit much and he’d never done this before. He tried to help with his hand and this seemed to be well received. Harry groaned once Tom had fallen into a rhythm with his fisted hand pressed to his lips, taking in most of the large organ that way.  
“Yeah.. like that.. just.. keep..keep.. doing that.. Fuck..”

It required a great divide of concentration to lay the wand to the side and use that hand to probe down below Harry’s balls till he found the slicked tight ring of his anus.   
Harry gave a slight yelp at the prod. He stopped what he was doing and used the pad of his thumb instead to rub circles around the wrinkled little hole. This seemed to feel good for Harry to judge by the deepening of his growls and groans. Cautiously he slowed the pace of his sucking.

“No.. Don’t bloody stop!” Harry complained. “So close..”

Tom remembered exactly how horrible it felt when Draco was teasing him and holding him on the edge as he kept messing about with his bum. He could imagine that Harry wanted to strangle him about now.   
He felt like the little ring of muscle was somewhat looser now and probed with his thumb, pressing harder at the centre. Suddenly it seemed like the ring gave way and his entire thumb slipped inside.   
He gasped around the cock in his mouth. It was burning hot and slick in there.. it felt like there was wet velvet pressed tightly all around his thumb. How much better would that feel on his cock.   
Harry had gasped too when his thumb penetrated him. Now he was softly begging again for Tom not to do that. Not to rape him.   
“Please.. just.. suck me.. I don’t want you to do that..” Harry whispered hoarsely. 

Ignoring him he moved his thumb around in circles feeling all around and then he slid it in and out slightly, fucking the little hole with it. Harry gave a low moan.   
Tom smiled around the shaft his head was bobbing slowly on. He remembered that it hadn’t felt bad at all when it had just been a finger Draco was pushing in and out of him. Carefully he removed his thumb and pressed two fingers to Harry’s rosette. It took more effort to work them in there, although Harry didn’t hiss or whimper so he assumed the lubricant spell was working as it was supposed to. When he started to fuck Harry with them to the same rhythm as his sucking, The boy started to groan more loudly and mumble incoherent little pleas and cursewords.   
He scissored his fingers, trying to stretch the tight ring as much as he could. Harry only reacted with enthusiasm. Deciding that he probably didn’t need to bother with another finger in light of the lube, he withdrew Harry’s cock from his mouth, sucking it hard till it popped free. Harry’s eyes flew open in sudden panic. 

“No! Don’t! Please don’t! I don’t want that.. Tom..” 

Tom swallowed, remembering how he had said the very same things to Draco and how the other boy had ignored his wishes completely.

“You liked everything so far, didn’t you Harry?” He asked softly. 

Harry grimaced and looked at him pleadingly.   
“i dont want to do that.” He repeated.

Various responses warred within Tom. Just do it. He was his enemy. He had to die anyway.. What did it matter. But... Harry was somehow different to everyone else.. this strange sensation when they touched meant something. He didn’t want to do what Draco had done to him. He wanted Harry to want it. It would be better if he wanted it.

Cautiously he crawled up Harry’s body, dropping himself down to lie against him, chest to chest, groin to groin. They both hissed and gasped for a minute at the sudden enormous rush of so much skin contact. When his mind was sufficiently clear again he leaned down and tentatively kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth gently. He pulled back and looked into the wary green eyes.   
“I want you..” he whispered and brushed his lips against Harry’s jaw, mouthing it lightly. He could almost feel how dilated his own pupils were. He was desperate to relieve the ache in his balls that had been building for the last twenty minutes.   
“I’ve..never done this before.. I want to do it with you. I..think I did from the first moment I saw you.. So.. beautiful.. your eyes.. your face.. body.. everything..   
No one will ever know!!.. not even her... I promise it will feel good, Harry. I’ll make you scream in pleasure..   
But...but.. I won’t unless you let me. So.. say yes.. please.. Say yes or..or I think i’ll go mad.”

He held his breath, his entire body tingling and humming, staring down at the shocked expression on his so-called-enemy’s face.

“I’m not..gay though” Harry protested softly. “I don’t want that.. someone up my bum.. its..just perverse! It doesn’t matter if no one knows.. I’ll know.. I’ll never be able to look Ron in the face again.. Can’t you just.. just..” he swallowed. “Just.. finish sucking me..” he whispered guiltily. 

Tom felt his insides clench. He had thought sure that Harry would relent now. 

“Its not perverse” he said softly. “It feels good.. I’m attracted to you.. and..you’ve liked what I did so far.. this isn’t any different.” He grasped at straws.   
“I’ll.. I’ll obliviate you afterward if you want” he offered desperately. 

Harry looked like he was actually considering it. Tom used the moment to grind his cock against Harry’s slowly. The green eyes slipped half closed in lust.   
“Fuck.. its wrong that that feels so bloody good..” he muttered.

“Say yes Harry” Tom pressed, grinding more enthusiastically. “Let me make you come, screaming”

Harry, who had been starting to pant again, his eyes closed, wrenched them open again at the words. “No! No – I don’t want to. Just..just this.. Keep doing that...ok?”   
Tom looked down at him sorrowfully.   
He had the choice between forcing him or giving up it seemed. Harry was not going to give in.   
If he forced him... he’d probably have to either obliviate him or kill him.   
He found he was disinclined to kill him just now. And if he obliviated him then he’d find himself back at square one.   
Or he could..give him what he wanted. At least there was a small chance that he might...come back.. might want to do it again...

It grated against him to consider putting aside his own immediately attainable desires in favour of an uncertain longer term gain. 

He sighed softly.   
unhappily, he wandlessly dispelled the weakening hex on the other boy and ground into him gently.   
“ok. if that’s what you want” he said quietly.   
Harry suddenly realising that he could move again, seemed to waver indecisively. Tom saw his eye flick rapidly to his wand that was lying at the side untouched. It was within grasp. He would only have to reach out and take it.   
Tentatively he leaned down and grazed his lips over those of the boy who he knew he was foolishly giving the chance to hex him badly, possibly even kill him.   
“Take it, if you want” he said, suddenly uncaring of what Harry might do to him. It all seemed so futile.   
Harry reached out immediately and grabbed his wand hurriedly, as if it might only be a trick.. as if Tom might take it off him at any second.   
The change in the other boy’s body was tangible. The very atmosphere had changed, Tom realised. Harry was considering attacking him right now. Despite his unsatisfied lust – or perhaps because..

Dropping his head to Harry’s neck, Tom kissed and nibbled lightly, Harry didn’t relax but he did tilt his head slightly, baring more of his throat for Tom to suck. Carefully, he brought one hand very, very slowly down Harry’s side, aware of the sudden tension in the other boy’s frame at this move. He whispered against his ear.. “Calm down.. You are armed and I am not..” and then licked and nibbled at Harry’s earlobe. This elicited a low groan. He focused on Harry’s ear some more, trailing his tongue up the outer shell and then breathing a hot breath across it. He felt the boy beneath him shiver at that.   
“God... that feels..so..”

At that point his hand reached its destination. He wandlessly cast a simple lubrication spell on it and caught up Harry’s cock, stroking it and greasing it up to the tune of Harry’s mumbled swearing and tossing his head. He gave himself the same treatment and then, with difficulty, pressed both their shafts together and tried to stroke them both at once while he ground up and down against Harry’s cock.  
Harry gave a soft cry and turned his head, mouthing at the side of Tom’s face.   
Eagerly Tom turned to meet him and captured his lips, kissing him deeply before he even had the chance to realise what was going on. Harry’s gasp stole his breath and he sucked, stealing it back. He abandoned his grip on their two cocks, it was too wide to hold comfortably. Instead he rubbed his slicked hand over Harry’s shaved pubis and abdomen and then over his own and went back to grinding and slipping against him. Harry had broken away from the kiss and was panting and blinking in shock even as he rocked and bucked beneath him   
“You.. you kissed me” he panted.

Tom smirked and turned his face back with the hand that wasn’t covered in Lube.   
“Yes..”   
He tried to kiss him again and Harry ducked away in horror..  
Tom tried to suppress the disappointment and satisfied himself with kissing and nipping at Harry’s neck again. While this drew appreciative moans, when he returned to his ear, the other boy was mewling and huffing in no time, clinging to him with both arms. He could feel Harrys wand clenched in his fist, which was pressed against the small of his back, guiding him in their mutual rutting.

Harry was close.. the sounds he was making were doing something wicked to Tom’s stomach.. it was flipping about as if butterflies were swarming. He felt the sudden searing hot rush of slick liquid between them as Harry came apart, arching his spine and tossing his head, mouth wide and panting as he almost sounded like he was sobbing. Seizing the chance, he stole Harry’s lips once again, plunging his tongue into the other boys mouth and tangling it with his. Astoundingly, this time the other boy returned his kiss, sucking and mouthing at him and breathing through his nose like a bellows. He groaned deeply and Tom swallowed the sound, losing control, his eyes clenching as his arms burrowed under Harry’s neck, embracing him tightly. He felt his hot seed added to Harry’s between them and revelled in it, sucking the other boy’s tongue into his mouth and swirling his own around it suggestively. Harry didn’t break the kiss this time.. he did.. pulling away and letting his head drop down , resting his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. He felt hot. And Harry felt hot beneath him. It was all suddenly irritatingly warm and sticky. He wanted to wandlessly scourgify the mess away but it was already gone. Harry had done it. Relieved, he tossed himself down onto his back on the stone floor beside Harry.

He had the feeling that the euphoria would fade all too soon and that he would be dodging hexes from the other boy again.

“well.” Harry said slowly, after a minute.  
“that was fucking weird.”

Tom rolled his eyes. The inhibited little wretch was probably going to pretend he hadn’t just got off now.

However Harry didn’t say anything further for a minute or two. Tom glanced over. The green eyed boy seemed to be contemplating something troubling on the ceiling. 

“Don’t think too hard” Tom advised him, scowling. “You’ll hurt yourself.”   
He sat up and reached for his clothes.   
The hand that fisted itself in his hair was entirely unexpected and the breath was knocked out of him when he was pulled harshly back down to the floor, hitting his head on the flagstones. Then Harry was on top of him, all narrowed eyes and glaring as he pressed his wand under Tom’s jaw. 

“You were going to fucking rape me.. you little psycho” he snarled.   
Tom sighed and flicked his eyes to the side, away from him. The hum of their physical contact was distracting, tantalising. He tried to ignore it.

“Don’t ever do that again” Harry demanded suddenly.   
He flicked his eyes to him in confusion, looking up and trying to work out which part was meant. The trying to rape him? Touching him in the first place? Cursing him?   
Harry didn’t seem to be particularly gingerly about touching him right now. He had almost his entire body pressed against him.  
Then the raven haired boy – his enemy.. almost his rape victim, stunned him completely by swooping down, still glaring, and kissing him hard. His mouth was demanding. Tom, blindsided, struggled to matching his hungry dominating movements.   
When Harry released him just as abruptly he could only lie there wide eyed, looking up at him, entirely wrong footed and unsure what to expect.

“I’m still not sure what I should do with you now” Harry growled down at him. “Whether I should hex your balls off.. go to Dumbledore.. obliviate you and pretend it never happened..”  
Tom swallowed. All of those options were extremely undesirable.

“Maybe... you could hold off on the decision..” he tried.. “Maybe..” he licked his lips nervously. “Maybe you might...come back..sometime.. when you know Hermione is somewhere else.. and let me try to convince you some more.”  
Harry’s brows pulled together pensively and he grimaced  
Tom waited, holding his breath, for the answer. He didn’t hold much hope right now. He was readying himself to defend against the obliviate.

“I don’t want to like this” Harry growled. “There are a dozen bloody reasons why this is just so wrong!”

Tom felt a faint flutter of hope. He leaned up and pressed a tentative kiss to the other boy’s jaw. “Don’t take the memory” he said softly. “I don’t want to forget this. I’ll never tell..”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked suddenly vulnerable.. like a lost child.. It was obvious that fundamental paradigms were being challenged in his mind. He gulped and then ran a hand over his face, When he took it away he looked more decisive.  
“I’ll..I’ll let you keep it for now!” he said with an expression that screamed ‘don’t betray my trust!’   
“Maybe..I might..come back sometime.. and we can..talk...or something..” he managed.

Tom smirked inwardly, cheering at his triumph. Outwardly he nodded seriously with wide eyes.

“But.. you have to leave Mione alone. I don’t want you messing with her anymore”

This was an unacceptable agreement. Tom turned away, looking toward the stupefied girl on the ground, his expression darkening.  
“No.”

Harry’s wand pressed harder into his flesh again. “No?!!” he growled incensed.

“I need her” Tom offered, knowing it was a lie.   
“I..can’t sleep..since he brought me back. I haven’t slept in..decades.. I forgot how..   
Last night I slept when I was beside her in bed. Something about her is very calming. I..need her.. You know, sleep deprivation ends in madness.”

Astoundingly, Harry seemed to be considering this seriously.

“Try to sleep without her” he insisted.

“I would have done that anyway” Tom said blandly. “She forbade me to enter her room or her bed again. I have no other choice.”

“You can sleep without her just fine” Harry proclaimed, although, to Tom’s delight, he didn’t look entirely certain. “Try. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“If I can’t.. will you..” Tom queried.. leaving the end of the sentence entirely open. 

“Sleep with you? Here? Not a chance!” he laughed.  
“Not only would Dumbledore never allow it.. everyone would wonder where I was if I wasn’t in the dorm room anymore and after Ron..” he broke off looking guilty “Anyway..everyone would question where I was and it wouldn’t be a good idea to let anyone know you’re here.”

Tom bristled at the way he’d laughed when he’d refused.   
“What exactly did Ron do?” he asked, although he already knew from Draco last night.

“Nothing.. “ Harry said uncomfortably.

Tom frowned and told himself that it was ridiculous to resent his enemy for not telling him sensitive information – namely that Ronald Weasley had opened his big mouth and now most likely half the school (and his other self) knew that he was here.

“Will you let me up now? Its..rather cold..” he said frostily. 

Harry looked momentarily regretful but the expression vanished to a tight distant one as the boy got up off him quickly.   
He climbed to his feet gracefully and moved to collect his clothes however Harry anticipated his wishes once again and his clothing sailed up to meet him, wrapping itself around him and fastening itself in the blink of an eye. He turned in time to see the other boy slipping on his teeshirt manually. The lovely taut abdomen vanished beneath the soft worn grey cotton of the teeshirt. Tom looked at it with mild longing. He’d just come but he wanted more.   
He could see, however, from Harry’s closed expression, that it would be pointless to even try to drag him upstairs with him. 

“Are you going to obliviate her?” Tom asked curiously.   
Harry looked deeply uncomfortable.

“No.. I might damage her mind.” He said softly. Whatever happens, we’ll just have to deal with it. She’ll probably want to tell Dumbledore that we duelled. 

Tom was musing on this mysterious we that had crept, unnoticed, into the boy’s sentence.   
“Well.. we hardly duelled” he observed with a smirk. Harry looked at him angrily. He smiled wider. “Maybe.. if we see more of one another.. I might teach you some defensive spells. Your defense is truly abysmal.

Harry’s face showed that he knew it as well. It dropped further at a thought that had just occurred to him.   
“He’ll probably stop that too.. He’d never let me be in a room with you if he thought there was a chance you might be able to take my wand. He’d never let you have a wand so we could practice duel either. It’d never work.”

Tom added quietly – “well.. all of that is only really an issue if Hermione remembers what happened”

“I really can’t modify her memory like that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I wouldn’t even cast an obliviate unless it was life or death”

“I could do it.”   
He said it quietly and kept his eyes trained on the stone flagstone a metre to the right of the stupefied girl’s body.   
The silence stretched on for over a minute. He resisted the temptation to say anymore to try to persuade.

“With her wand?” Harry asked finally.

Tom swallowed uneasily.   
“Yours would be preferable. It has a greater affinity to me. But it would probably be fine with her wand too.”

To his delight, after a long moment’s hesitation, Harry offered him his wand. As he held it out, handle first, he seemed to want to snatch it back. The vulnerable expression that he’d earlier seen on the boy’s face was back in amplified form. Harry Potter was voluntarily placing his life in Tom’s hands and both knew it.

Cautiously, he accepted the wand, nodding slightly at the taller boy in a gesture of acknowledgement for the trust he was placing in him.   
Without a moment’s pause he turned to Hermione, pointing the wonderfully comfortable wand at her prone form and flicking off a white flash. “That was the obliviate” he informed Harry unnecessarily. The next part was slightly trickier. He had to construct the memory that he wanted her to possess. He decided it would be best to have her remember them arguing and then him stalking off to his room for the rest of the night. After which time Harry excused himself and she went to bed.” He placed the memory with a pale pink spell and felt it graft onto the spaces left by the obliviate. A quiet little thought drifted through his mind that he could simply turn and execute the boy who was prophesised to kill him now. Regardless what might happen to him when Dumbledore discovered what he had done, he would be doing his other self a favour. And after all – they shared one soul. It was one for all and all for one, as the saying went, surely?   
No. It wasn’t. He had been left in the diary for fifty years. His other self had some explaining to do and the boy of prophesy so happened to be a gorgeous, helpless, entertaining fellow who he might in the future have the opportunity to fuck. For the moment the balance lay in retaining his trust.   
Withdrawing a step he took a last moment to enjoy the feeling of a wand in true affinity with his magic before sighing and handing it back.   
Harry grabbed it as if it were a liferaft at sea. Tom pretended not to notice. The relief on Harry’s face was magnificent to behold. 

Tom moved toward Hermione, retrieving her wand from the floor and using it to levitate her. “According to her – we argued and then I went off in a sulk. You left and she went to bed”   
Harry nodded agreeably, although there was a taint of guilt there. Tom hoped that the boy would be capable of keeping a secret even so.   
“I’ll put her to bed” he told him softly.

A suspicious look pinned him.

“I’ll put her to bed and then i’ll come right back and you can ward her room if you like” he amended, sighing.

Harry smiled that beatific smile again.   
“No. I trust you.” He said.

Tom smiled back – a hopeful, grateful smile that any of his professors (except Dumbledore) would have lapped up credulously. He walked Harry to the door and hesitated, putting on a nervous act, looking up at the other boy wide eyed until Harry swallowed and uneasily embraced him. Tom raised himself up on his toes (revelling in the sheer scope of his triumph) and pressed a soft kiss to the ‘older’ boy’s neck, delighting in the way the latter shivered in response to it.

After he was gone, Tom levitated Hermione to her room removed her clothes using the divesto and allowed himself a few minutes to examine the sheer loveliness of her naked form.. so different to Harry’s and Draco’s, before applying the reverse divesto to clothe her in her white cotton nightdress.   
Tucking her into bed, he took a moment to cast her wards upon her bedroom door and then tucked her wand into her hands, letting himself out through the bathroom. It took a little longer to put up the wards she favoured using wandless magic.

No doubt Harry would be relieved when he spoke with Hermione tomorrow and would trust Tom even more. He smirked as he retrieved Draco’s wand from the lintel outside on his balcony.   
He had had no intention of sleeping with the mudblood tonight anyway. He wanted to work on the necklace and needed to remain awake for the next three days in order to persuade Dumbledore that he needed the girl in his bed to rest adequately.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok...I was going to go to sleep but I checked my email on my phone and your lovely comments have made me switch the light back on and turn on my laptop to update.

He had almost solved the necklace, he thought.   
It was closing in on six in the morning and he was putting Draco’s wand back into its hiding place. It would not do to have it discovered and yesterday Snape had let himself into his rooms without warning at a very early hour.   
After six and a half hours of focussed concentration and careful probing, he had identified all of the spells upon the necklace and mapped their interconnections.   
There were only eighteen different spells, although two were repeated twice. 

He was fairly certain that if he severed one and redirected only four connections, he would be able to slip the necklace off, provided he placed it upon another living being. The charm to detect life signs could not be removed. If the necklace left the contact of a lifeform, even for a moment, it would call alarm.   
No prizes for guessing who would receive the alarm.  
Dumbledore would certainly modify his restrictions if any alarm went off. At the moment the necklace did not prevent him using magic; or magic flowing through him. He was having trouble understanding why the old goat had not rendered him a squib. If all he wanted was the information in his mind, he could still access that irrespective whether Tom might be able to perform magic.

So.. it obviously wasn’t all Dumbledore was after.

He had detected a spell that did seem to register whether he used magic and which was connected to another alarm spell. At first he had been fundamentally confused, finding it there. It was logical that it should be there - Yet.. why had no one come to confiscate Draco’s wand?! Why had he been permitted to hex and take his pleasure with Harry Potter last night?.. He had cursed Hermione and Dumbledore had done nothing.  
After a lot of delicate investigation of the interlinkages, he had discovered that that particular spell had been rendered inert. Layering and interweaving charms was a complex business – and with so many it quickly became difficult to maintain an overview over the operation of each, particularly if they were feeding back into one another. He had determined that the monitoring spell which should have triggered an alarm at even wandless magic, was in fact doing so, however its reaction was being caught in a feedback loop with the area limitation spell which was communicating with the wards around these chambers. In short – the necklace was ‘telling the walls’ when he used magic. The signal flowed into the location charm which did not activate because he remained within the walls.   
The snag was not bidirectional. The location limitation spell was functionally linked with an alarm notification charm that would contact Dumbledore, a warning charm that would punish him with pain if he tried to violate the wards and a stunning charm that would activate if he successfully passed them.

He wondered who had charmed the necklace and whether they had been hurried or actually incompetent.

There was a third option – It was possible that he was being allowed to access his magic.   
Perhaps Dumbledore was testing him. Perhaps he had other active means of monitoring him here.   
If that was so – it suggested that actually escaping this little prison would be far more complicated than simply breaching the wards and heading for the closest apparition point. Furthermore the consequences of transgression could be more far-reaching.   
It would also imply that Dumbledore had allowed him to hex Hermione.. allowed Draco Malfoy into the chambers.. allowed what had occurred with Harry last night.   
And that strained plausibility, in Tom’s eyes.   
He could have killed Harry Potter last night.. had every intention of doing so. He could have killed him with his own wand. 

There was no way that the old goat was that confident in predicting his behaviour. 

So it was probably an error..

There was a locus charm on the necklace which could probably be monitored at intervals to register where he was within the chambers. It was the most likely explanation he could come up with for why Severus Snape been in his room implying that he knew of some transgression.   
On the other hand..the charm had to be actively checked and he couldn’t believe that Dumbledore would place that capability in the hands of another. If they had known that he slept in the mudblood’s bed, surely there would have been some kind of consequences.   
Perhaps Severus Snape had been bluffing entirely... Perhaps he was truly only there to poke through his mind in place of Dumbledore, and he had detected some faint fleeting wariness in Tom’s reaction and used it to advantage. 

Could he really ignore the opportunity to rid himself of the necklace, simply in order to appear ‘compliant?’ Docile? Committed to doing whatever Albus Dumbledore wished?

 

Around seven thirty in the morning there was a knock on his bedroom door. 

He glanced down over himself. He had not had a shower yet this morning and was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing the previous night. It was nevertheless.. acceptable attire for receiving someone into his room. 

“Enter” he commanded quietly, strolling back toward his bed and lowering himself onto it in time to see Hermione poke her head in the door cautiously.   
When her eyes fell on him and she noticed he obviously hadn’t slept her timid hopeful expression devolved into a glower.

“Seriously?! You’re actually going to force yourself to stay awake until Professor Dumbledore insists I let you sleep in my bed?! That’s.. that’s just..” She emitted a frustrated growl and withdrew, closing the door hard.   
“And I was actually worried you might still be upset!!” she snarked as she stamped down his stairs. 

Tom smiled.   
Perhaps it was a foolish plan. If he could leave here soon there might not be time to slowly bring the girl around to his way of thinking. Would he be able to force her to accompany him?  
What would happen if he did? If his other self found them.. when his other self found them, would he kill the dirty-blooded girl?   
She was his. Dirty blood and pretty lips and wild hair and all.  
And the other one? Harry? 

His mind was divided on that topic in a way that it was not when it came to Hermione. 

He would discover the reason why touching the boy felt so extraordinary and then he would kill him. 

But it wasn’t quite that simple somehow.  
He’d had Harry IN his grasp.. he’d had him pinned.. helpless.. he’d had a wand.. a wand that he never should have given back.. and instead of doing the logical thing – using legilimens to find out everything he needed to know before killing the green eyed beauty – he’d become distracted with the thought of having him.. and then he’d gotten to the point where he did not want to hurt him.. He’d become an irrational sot after minimal exposure.   
Was that somehow part of the effect of whatever it was that had tingled when he touched him? Did it make him stop thinking like a reasonable wizard?!   
He would test it the next time the boy appeared.   
And he didn’t think it would take very long. Harry had enjoyed what they’d done together.. and now he seemed to believe that there was some ‘we’ between them..that Tom would teach him defensive magic.  
Tom snorted, smirking.

There was little point in remaining up here if Hermione was awake. He couldn’t work on the necklace with her around. Besides... she still believed she had escaped unscathed for her abominable behaviour yesterday. That wouldn’t do.

Banishing the nasty smirk from his face he got up and went downstairs.   
He found Hermione dressed in her uniform, puttering at her desk, obviously preparing to leave the chambers.   
oh yes. Monday. She would need to go to classes again. A momentary wave of anger flashed through him. She would escape before he had the opportunity to punish her. 

Hermione’s head turned as he reached the bottom stair and he was certain that she had suppressed a flicker of fear at seeing him.  
Good! She should fear. Perhaps she too realised that she had behaved appallingly yesterday.

“I would like you to give me a copy of your timetable, in order that I know when to expect you each day. And I wish to know who else is capable of accessing these chambers” he stated matter-of-factly.

“No.” the girl responded simply. 

“No?!”  
He found himself infuriated once again. His hand itched to curse her for daring to be dismissive with him.. daring to refuse him..to treat him with disdain.

“No. I’m not authorised to tell you the second part and I’m not going to tell you where I’ll be when I’m not locked in here with you. ..I’m not a delivery girl or a girl-Friday either. I will not go to the library for you or pick up potions ingredients, or pass messages or visit the kitchens either. You are a prisoner, not a student and I just have to live here – At best I’m a jailer – but I’m not one of your servants!”

He saw red.  
For a moment it was as if a sheet of red glass had come down over his vision and he actually saw red. It was extraordinarily difficult to keep the rage from his face to offer a small sad smile and nod.   
“Yes.. I am very aware that I am a prisoner, Hermione. There is no need to remind me.   
You may or may not realise it...but I have never been as ...vulnerable.. as I am here. Never. I have no wand and am unable to defend myself.   
I am not naive. It is almost certain that my presence here will be detected by other students and, particularly, by the children of my other self’s followers, if indeed this has not already occurred.   
When this happens I will be a target – not only for those who hate and despise my other self and whatever he has done over the last decades, but also for those who serve him. No doubt he will wish to acquire me too, when he learns of my existence.   
Therefore – I wish to know when to expect you and who else might come here, in order to better prepare and perhaps stand a chance of defending myself, should an attack occur. It was not.. as you seem to imply...to control your movements.”

Hermione looked irritated but seemed to be turning the idea over in her mind. It was clear that she was more than a little reluctant to give him the information he wanted. After a minute of internal debate she responded. “You’ll just have to learn to put your faith in others. Professor Dumbledore won’t allow anything to happen to you. You don’t need to know about where I am all the time or when I’ll be back. If anyone can access these chambers, it’s because Professor Dumbledore has determined that they’re trustworthy.   
Now.. I’m going to be late. I’ll see you later.”

There was no point in continuing the debate, he realised and made no further comment while the thrice damned little mudblood swanned out of the chambers.   
Insolent little piece of refuse! Now he had no way of knowing when he might be interrupted. He could not place wards up in case they were detected.   
The risk of losing the wand he had acquired was too great to attempt to work upon examining the wards placed on the door. He had a long dull day to look forward to in the blasted girl’s absence. 

Turning, he stalked angrily to the sofa. The orange-haired, flat-faced animal that belonged to the girl was curled up there. Obviously she had forgotten yet again to be sure that it was trapped within her room. He raised his hand, considering killing the animal ..but then another thought occurred to him.  
The necklace had to be transferred to a lifeform, or risk setting off the alarms.

He narrowed his eyes at the cat speculatively. 

It never left the chambers. But it was frequently in the girl’s room. 

IF the locus charm was being checked periodically then someone would find it odd that he seemingly spent all day within Hermione’s room when she was away at class.. and they would find it even more troubling if they detected him there at night. 

On the other hand.. after he had wheedled Dumbledore into allowing him to sleep in the mudblood’s chambers it would no longer be suspicious to find him there at night.  
And perhaps he might do something about the cat’s favourite place to spend the days. Once he had access to the girl’s bedchambers, it would be a simple thing to move the cat to his own room during the day.

Experimentally he transfigured the cat into a replica of himself.   
It woke as it found itself unable to curl adequately into a ball and tried to leap up, falling over and then panicking, large human limbs tangling and lying heavily.   
The sound it emitted was a mindless wail and it disturbed Tom to see it come out of his own mouth.. the fright twisting the familiar features. He moved closer to the doppelganger on the floor cautiously. It hissed at him. 

“There kitty kitty kitty.. shhh.” He crooned at it, moving to kneel beside it and stroke it’s... his own.. hair.

After a while it calmed slightly and he smirked as the creature started to emit a low growl that he assumed was the cat’s attempt to force a purr through a human body. It still didn’t seem to have its limbs under control.   
Carefully he helped it back up to sit on the sofa. Now it was turning and twisting its head all around, looking, as if perturbed by the strange angle. He wondered what the world looked like to a cat.   
It turned to him and narrowed it’s eyes.   
“aaaaauuuuuuoooo” it said stupidly.

“Fish?” he enquired and the doppelganger looked surprised and leaned into him with wide pleased eyes. It was disturbing. He leaned away.   
The creature liked fish then. Good. He wondered to what extent it was possible to train an animal to simulate a human. How intelligent was the cat, anyway?!  
“Fish and milk?!”   
It was making that growl again and rubbed it’s head on him. He smirked and petted his own likeness, scratching it’s hair lightly. 

“Come.. “ he tried, standing up and walking away a few paces. The Tom-cat didn’t seem to know what he wanted at all. It looked disappointed that no fish and milk would be forthcoming.   
Thoughtful, he transfigured it back into a cat and then called for a house elf. 

 

After he had finished his own breakfast of scrambled eggs, he took up the small bowls of sliced tuna and warm whole milk that he’d placed under a stasis charm on the mantelpiece out of the cat’s reach. It had been prowling back and forth impatiently in front of the fire the entire time while he ate. He’d watched with enjoyment its frustration at being unable to reach the food it could smell.

He levitated the bowls wandlessly to follow him and stalked to the cat, picking it up and holding it at arm’s length like a small furry bomb that might explode at any minute. The hairy orange animal turned to him and gave him a filthy look, but it didn’t struggle. Its eyes seemed to flick back and forth between Tom and the bowls floating behind.   
It allowed itself, quite docilely, to be carried up to his room where he placed it down on the floor and then doubled back to close the door.   
He placed a mild sticking charm, just in case. The few seconds of warning it would give him would be sufficient to transfigure the cat back. Probably. 

Mildly surprised, he took in the animal sitting, waiting primly on the floor, with clear expectation that it was to be given the fish and milk now. It was, he thought, quite intelligent, as far as cat’s went.   
He transfigured the cat back into a Tom-replica.   
It immediately fell over and looked up at him with annoyance again, hissing. 

“Fish fish fish” he said encouragingly, lowering the bowl so the Tom-cat on its side on the floor could see into it. Its eyes widened and it struggled to get its arms to obey, successfully pushing itself up.   
The legs were the problem, he determined. He could probably teach it to crawl. But he couldn’t have his duplicate crawling around like a child. That would never do.   
Placing the bowls of fish and milk on the ground he went to the clone, now sitting on its bottom on the floor again looking frustrated. It actually fought him when he moved behind it and, wrapping his arms around its middle, dragged it to its feet.   
He had to hold it there for a while before its legs were in a suitable position to balance it on the ground. Its knees collapsed twice before it managed to hold them and balance. 

“Goooood kitty” he praised it when it stood, relatively steadily balanced on its feet with his arms around it. He summoned a small piece of tuna and fed it to the duplicate Tom. It nearly took his fingers off. He couldn’t help but smirk again at that. 

“You like the fish hm? Nice fish?” 

The creature emitted another disturbing aaaauuoooo sound. 

Now. First things first. Standing. 

The cat fell over the first two times he released it and the sounds it made would have been entertaining if they had not been coming from his own face. 

Stepping back from the Tom-cat again, sitting mournfully on its arse on the floor, he levitated it wandlessly up to the correct height again.   
It straightened its legs, clearly recognising what was being asked of it. He observed again that it was a very clever animal, relative to the other cats he’d known.   
When he lowered it slowly to balance, it managed to stay upright for almost ten seconds before it leaned forward toward the bowls of fish and milk and made walking movements with its arms.   
The levitation spell kept it from falling. It struggled for a while, making hisses and arroooooo sounds before it first moved one of its legs forward a fraction. It was not quite a step but it was the beginnings of a step..   
Tom levitated a small piece of tuna to its mouth, which it snapped at and gobbled up with enormous satisfaction. 

It took less time for it to attempt another movement with its legs. The cat learned quickly. After five bites of tuna it was making actual steps and had covered a quarter of the distance to the bowls. The steps didn’t look at all normal and would not pass for a real person – certainly not for Tom himself.. but he began to imagine that this was quite possible.

He spent the next two hours training the cat. It was sitting on the floor washing its face with its hands when he heard a soft tread on the third step in the staircase to his room. It barely creaked. The cat was a cat again before whoever was outside even reached the top of the stair and he released the sticking charm just as a hand turned the knob. 

He looked at the door expectantly, forcing his face into a calm, neutral disposition. He could feel his heart beating faster.   
The cat, uncaring of events around it, had immediately gone to the bowl of milk, with its bushy tail in the air and dropped its face, making lapping sounds.

A head of black hair peered warily around the edge of the door. 

Harry.   
Already.   
He was impressed. He’d thought it would take a couple of days for the boy to convince himself to return. 

“Crookshanks?! What are you doing with Hermione’s cat?!” he asked suspiciously. 

“Feeding it milk” Tom replied with an ‘isn’t it obvious?!’ tone. “It’s rather dull here when I am alone.”

The suspicious look did not fade from the green eyed boy’s face. “Where did you get the milk?”

“House elves. They do feed me, you know.”

Harry moved further into the room, uneasily. Tom watched as his gaze shifted from the orange cat on the floor to the bed and then back to Tom, seated on the floor a few metres away from the cat.

“So... er...” he started eloquently.

“Close the door”  
The instruction was voiced quietly and it seemed it was this very calm authority that startled the boy. Harry took two steps backward back toward the door. He looked like he were about to run.

“Unless you wish someone to walk in while we are..speaking.. it is better if you close the door” he rephrased quickly.

It didn’t seem to reassure his ‘enemy’ much but Harry did, reluctantly, move to shut the door although he hovered near it and one hand had moved to his pocket where it was almost certainly gripping his wand.

“Harry.. you are once again armed.. and I am not. What exactly are you afraid of?!”

“I’m not afraid of you, Tom.” Harry pronounced with a hard voice. “But I’m not stupid either.”

With a smirk, Tom climbed to his feet, showing his empty palms to the other wizard, who’d now pulled out his wand.   
“Still unarmed” he reminded him and turned away to the balcony. It would almost certainly frighten Harry off if he went anywhere near the bed right now. 

The weather today was once again demonstrating that autumn was well on its way. As Tom let himself out onto the balcony, hearing, at last, the soft tread of the other boy following, he took in the bleak white low cloud and the cool wind. It smelled like rain. The grounds were almost empty. He could see a large man dragging wood over by the forbidden forest.   
Resting his forearms on the stone parapet he took a deep refreshing breath.   
He could hear Harry hesitating a few steps behind him. 

“Oh do stop dithering, Harry.” he berated in a weary voice. “if I intended to attack you, I would have done so last night.”

After a few moments the other boy moved forward another few steps till he could stand a small distance away at the edge of the balcony too. He looked more than wary, he looked downright expectant that he would be attacked at any moment.   
Tom glanced at him, taking in the bright glimmer of the green eyes that he had never seen by daylight before. He looked away again, detecting that his appreciative appraisal was not well received.  
“Have you decided you regret it then” he asked quietly, eyes roving out over the black lake.

“...I haven’t decided anything yet” came the cautious reply. 

Well that was encouraging, Tom decided. Perhaps Harry was here to be persuaded a little more. 

“I want you to teach me some better defensive spells” 

Tom sighed.   
Perhaps not then. 

“Is that the groundskeeper over by the forest?” he enquired aimlessly, seeking to delay a response to the demand. 

Harry turned and his eye scanned the distance.   
“Yes.” 

“In my time there was an old wizard named Rawley..” he offered. “He was rather decent about students foraging for potions ingredients in the forbidden forest, provided they could defend themselves adequately.” 

There was no response for a while and then Harry said “That’s Hagrid. He was a Professor for care of magical creatures for a while but Lucius Malfoy saw to it that he lost his job.”

Tom startled. “Hagrid?!”  
It was hardly a common name. He strained his eyes to peer at the figure. He was quite.. large. Even at this distance. Was it possible that this was the same half giant that he had attended school with?  
“Rubeus Hagrid?” he queried.

“Yes.” Harry confirmed curtly. He sounded annoyed. 

“Why would he become a groundskeeper?! Did he not graduate?! I remember that he was mediocre in classes, however I expected he would become something more than a labourer. He could have worked within the ministry in a number of roles – particularly in the department for regulation of magical creatures. Although.. I expected he would become some form of rare animal breeder actually.”

Harry didn’t reply again and Tom turned to him, curiously, surprised to find that the boy looked furious. His eyes were narrowed as he stared off toward the forbidden forest.

“Are you.. Do you dislike Hagrid?!” Tom asked, unsure how to interpret the reaction. “Did he do something..”

“No!” Harry interrupted venomously. “He didn’t do anything. I don’t dislike him at all. I hate you.”  
At that the raven haired wizard turned away and stalked back into the castle, obviously planning on leaving. Tom hurried after him, perturbed at how rapidly and without warning the atmosphere had shifted.   
He caught up to Harry halfway across the room and tried to stop him with a hand on his arm, but drew it away sharply when it was soundly hexed. A dark red mark lay across all of his fingers as if he’d been caned. He barely restrained himself from retaliating. When he looked up Crookshanks was glaring out from underneath the bed at them both and Harry had continued toward the door angrily, still seeking to leave.

“What did I do?!” Tom demanded in frustration. “Why are you angry now?!”

Harry’s hand was on the doorknob.  
He hesitated.

Tom was trying to put the pieces together. Emotional reactions were taxing for him to understand at times.   
“Is it something my other self has done?!” he tried hopefully.   
“Perhaps.. something to do with Hagrid?! Harry.. I have no idea why you are upset. Stop! Tell me what has happened!”

He could see the other boy swallow and take a deep breath, huffing it out again.  
Harry glanced back toward him, still looking very angry. Seeing his genuine confusion, he seemed to lose the wind out of his sails and his hand dropped away from the doorknob.

“Yes. It’s something your...other self.. did. To Hagrid” he confirmed softly. “It’s better if I don’t tell you about it. Professor Dumbledore said we can’t tell you anything that’s happened since you’ve been in the diary.”

Tom thought this was an inconvenient restriction.

“I want to understand why you’re upset” he tried. “I haven’t seen Hagrid since we were 14. He had received a detention for charming Madeline Morrie’s plaits to drag her down the corridor. He was..not entirely unamusing.. Some of his antics were quite creative.. although.. obviously – as a Slytherin I could not exactly associate openly with Halfbreeds.”

Harry’s expression, which had been transfixed in startled surprise at the small anecdote, grew hard again when he mentioned that Hagrid was a halfbreed.

“It’s actually worse that you didn’t hate him” Harry informed him unhelpfully. “You got him expelled. They snapped his wand.”

Tom was shocked.  
Had he?! Why?! The oaf was not really important enough to hate. He had saved all his hate for people like Dumbledore. Longbottom and Prewitt in Gryffindor were the closest that a student came to gaining his loathing.   
It must have been quite serious for the ministry to have snapped Hagrid’s wand. 

“What happened?!” he asked, honestly confused.

Harry looked at him with a hard expression, seeming to study him, as if searching for a sign of duplicity.   
Finding none, he stepped a little closer; wand still in hand. His eyes had softened somewhat and he offered a look of patience, almost understanding.   
“I can’t tell you. But.. maybe I’m being unfair. I guess you weren’t the one who did those things.” 

Tom wanted to know what exactly ‘those things’ were.. but it wasn’t necessarily the best time to ask.   
He put the matter aside and turned away intentionally toward the cat. Crookshanks, Harry had called it.   
“Crookshanks. Come out now. There there..” he crooned softly, crouching down next to the bed. “No one was shouting at you. Do you want some more milk?” 

The cat crawled out at the offer of milk, giving them both dirty looks. Tom picked it up carefully and, unsure exactly how to hold it, placed it on the top of the bed. He stroked its fur gingerly. 

“You aren’t very comfortable around animals are you?!” Harry commented, sounding amused.

Tom shrugged.  
“Not.. furry.. animals, no.” he answered honestly. He had eviscerated Patrice Rosier’s cat after it had gotten into the boy’s dorms and disturbed a potion he had had simmering for several weeks. It had not been the first time he had killed someone else’s pet. If the cat were not potentially so useful to him, he might have killed it simply to punish Hermione. 

Harry moved to sit on the other side of the cat, which was plumping the blankets with little rhythmic grips of its claws and purring. Tom was barely stroking it. He was sure the cat was overacting in the hopes of more milk.   
His hand met Harry’s when the other boy moved to stroke the cat too. The sensation of their fingers brushing was like a mild electric shock. Tom startled and looked up. Harry was wearing a strange expression, his eyes fixed on Tom. After a moment, the other boy’s fingers reached again for his own, re-igniting that sharp tingling, and then lingered, trailing over the back of his hand.   
Tom found his mouth was dry.   
“Do you know.. why it feels like that?!” he asked, his voice slightly husky.   
Harry shook his head. 

“Does it feel that way when you touch anyone else?”  
Another shake.

“Do you want to..”

“Not..just now.” Harry interrupted before Tom could even finish the thought. “maybe later. Teach me something useful”

Tom tried not to show his disappointment. Harry still hadn’t removed his hand and the tingling magnetic attraction was distracting.   
He decided it really must do something to his mind. He couldn’t think straight when Harry touched him. Perhaps it was a spell. Perhaps this was a defensive spell the boy used.

“What do you want to know?” he found himself saying dreamily and cursed himself for his weakness. He was not this easily controlled!!

With a supreme effort he persuaded his hand to withdraw from where it lay on the cat’s back, caressed by the other boy’s. The sensation abated the moment they lost contact and he forced himself not to regret the exertion of will. He would not allow his mind to be dulled by pleasure.   
Harry reached for his hand again and Tom stood, moving away. “What do you want to know?” he repeated in a more businesslike tone. He glanced back, hearing the other boy rise to his feet too. Harry was approaching him again. He retreated further with mild warning on his face. 

“Defensive spells” Harry said, but he looked preoccupied. 

“Fine” Tom thought quickly. “I saw you use Protego. That is a single sided planar shield. I’ll teach you a simple bubble shield.”

“I want to learn the shield you were using against me” Harry said, looking down at him, now only a metre away again. The other boy’s hand rose as if to stroke Tom’s face. 

Ducking away and retreating further he responded shortly “No. Not only is that shield my own invention, but it is far too difficult for you at present. It is potentially lethal if used incorrectly and you do not know which spells are compatible with it and which are not.”

Harry’s eyes seemed to light up at this.   
Tom frowned slightly. It was patently obvious that the boy wanted to know what spells he could use to defeat the shield or render it ‘potentially lethal’ to the caster.

He found himself still retreating from Harry, who wore a rather predatory expression now. Tom did not retreat from things habitually. 

“Teach me that shield” Harry insisted.

“No.” His eyes darted slightly. Behind him was the balcony and Harry was between him and the two doors out of the room.   
Just as he was considering stepping outside, the balcony door snicked closed behind him quietly, leaving him pressed against it. Harry’s wand was in his hand.

“For someone who was so insistent last night, you’re really shy all of a sudden, Tom. Mind if I ask why?!” 

The damn gorgeous boy was smiling and was almost upon him again. He looked up defiantly. He could withstand whatever spell Harry was using, even if it was unlike anything he’d experienced before. He’d break it and then he’d...  
He’d what?!   
Fuck Harry? Kill him?   
No. no.. he had to use legilimency. He had to remember this time to find out what the boy had in his head.   
And then his mind was falling into strands of pleasure because Harry was touching his cheek, fingers lightly probing – experimental at first, before the other boy’s entire palm cupped his face. He leaned into it, knowing his breath was growing shallow, even at so chaste a touch.  
To his satisfaction he was faintly aware that the contact was having the same effect on Harry too. 

He felt his shirt being dragged from where it was tucked into his pants tidily and then he couldn’t suppress a low moan when Harry’s other hand delved beneath, stroking up over the side of his abdomen and igniting that delicious tingle more deeply.   
Writhing subtly he turned his face toward Harry’s hand and licked it, wanting more.

Harry blinked hazily, as if struggling to focus.  
“The... spell” he managed. 

“What spell?!” Tom said, in a tone that made it clear that he didn’t care in the slightest what spell.

Suddenly Harry’s lips were against his own, his mouth moving, the kiss ravenous. Tom parted his lips eagerly and was immediately gifted with a hot, wet, playful tongue in his mouth, teasing and drawing his own out.   
The delighted inertia that had held him captive till then broke and he reached for the other boy’s clothes, tugging at the school robes impatiently and dragging them off. 

The hand beneath his shirt had migrated to his back and was pulling him against the larger boy now. He was dimly aware as he struggled with the buttons on Harry’s school shirt that the hand that had been on his face was now delving through his hair in the most tantalising way.   
The moment he had the shirt open he abandoned his quest to unclothe Harry and began to explore his body.   
It was so hard and warm. Touching him felt so good.   
He needed more.   
He pushed Harry’s shirt off his shoulders and wrapped his arms around him.   
Better, but his own shirt was still in the way. 

A small sound of frustrated need was all that was required and the other boy broke off his kiss for a moment and reached for the bottom of Tom’s shirt, dragging it up and off him impatiently and then falling upon him hungrily once more, kisses interspersed with small nips and sucks. Now when Tom wrapped his arms around Harry, there was so much more skin against skin. Acres.. miles.. light years of skin. He couldn’t think straight if he tried.

He was very, very, dimly aware of hands fumbling at his trousers and it was wonderful. He felt the button go.. and then the fly opened as they were pushed down his legs to pool around his feet. Toeing his shoes off impatiently, he kicked the clothes around his feet away.   
At that, Harry broke off the kiss and stared down at him, panting softly, flushed and gorgeous with swollen lips.  
“This.. wasn’t what I..” he trailed off with a mien of faintly confused frustration. 

Tom tried to catch his breath. His cock was hard and straining upward and if Harry changed his mind now he just might have to hex him. 

Cautiously, not breaking the viridian gaze, he reached for the other boy’s trousers, unbuttoning them and sliding down the zip. He could feel the large hard organ beneath and gently dipped his hand inside, stroking Harry lightly over his underwear. He heard a low hum from the other boy, who was biting his lip and he felt him press against his hand a little.   
“We can talk after..” he offered, slipping his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s boxers, to push them down along with his trousers. 

“The spell. The shield you used last night. I want to learn it.” 

Tom scowled at the lovely defined collarbone at eye level in front of him. No. he wouldn’t be sharing that spell. It was his. It had taken a long time to perfect.

“You won’t manage it. I’ll teach you something else. Maybe in time you’ll be able to use that spell without killing yourself”

“No.”   
Harry’s hands caught Tom’s as he was beginning to slide his boxers and trousers down.

“No. Teach me that spell or I’ll leave now.”

Tom flicked narrowed eyes up to the face of the determined looking boy who was threatening him with blue balls.   
How dare he seek to blackmail him!! And with sex of all things!   
This could not be tolerated. No matter how it might feel to touch him – he would NOT endure this manner of attempted control. 

Tugging his hands away abruptly he sidled out from between Harry and the balcony door and stalked off.

“Then I’ll teach you nothing. Get out.” 

He didn’t spare the wretched creature a glance as he strode to the bathroom and let himself in, closing the door quietly behind him.   
Inside however it was another matter. He wanted to smash the room to pieces. The fury and frustration were like wild animals fighting inside him.   
He tried to control his rage and turned on the shower. Cold.   
Stepping beneath it was like a shot of adrenalin to his heart. He gasped and shuddered. It hurt.   
By the time he had adapted to the temperature and was glaring at the walls, thinking about the most enjoyable ways to kill Harry Potter, his erection had wilted. 

Hermione had apparently already replaced the shampoo he had tipped away so he again explored the scents one by one till he found one he felt suitable. Then he wandlessly placed targeted stinging and fastening charms on all but the peach scented one . She would not be able to open the incorrectly scented shampoo and she would get a nip for trying. He would train her just as he might train the cat.   
He took his time drying off. He had a nasty suspicion that the brat who had provoked his foul mood would be waiting in his room, preparing to take up the argument again.

And he was. 

Tom stepped out of the bathroom with dripping hair and a towel around his waist to find Harry lying on his bed with his trousers fastened and his school shirt on and open. The pain in the arse had his hands resting on the lean muscled abdomen that Tom had to concede was his second favourite part of the boy, after those amazing eyes.   
He looked over when Tom walked in but, wisely, remained silent. 

“I believe I told you to get out” 

Harry looked a bit more worried. “Look.. can we talk about this?!” he tried. 

“No. We’ve talked. We reached an impasse. I’ve changed my mind about my very generous offer to teach you something. Get out.”

Sitting up smoothly, Harry pulled off his shirt and tossed it away. He looked at Tom with the faint beginnings of desperation on his anxious face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to-“ 

“I don’t care.” Tom lied. “Get your clothes. Leave before someone discovers you were here. I’ve had enough of children’s games for the day.”

Harry was on his feet and in front of him in half a second. He reached out to touch Tom’s chest, to pull him back into the mindless arousal they’d shared before, but Tom evaded his hands, stepping around him and moving to the wardrobe.   
“Do not worsen my mood by attempting to force me to desire you.”

Harry yelled, incensed “Why not?! It’s what you did to me yesterday!” He seemed to struggle to pull himself back under control. “Look.. I’m sorry.. alright? I won’t do it again.”

Tom turned to find the other boy combing a hand through his hair in frustrated worry. The gesture was so familiar. He blinked at him. Had he ever done that in front of Harry? He was not certain. Perhaps it was coincidence. But then..he rarely did it at all.. and very seldom in front of others. 

“How did you get your scar?!” he asked incongruously, his attention falling onto the small white lines as the other boy’s hair was pulled aside. 

He’d noticed it yesterday.. it was quite nice, as scars went. Very clean and sharp, like the rune ‘Sigel’ from the younger Futhark. A rune for the sun. Had the boy perhaps carved it himself? 

“What?” Harry looked blindsided.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tom amended, recovering his irritated expression and turning back to the wardrobe. He ignored the sound of the other boy approaching quickly but did not expect it when Harry grabbed him roughly, turning him and tossing him back against the closed door on the other half of the wardrobe.

“You know don’t you!” he growled.

Blinking in surprise, Tom thought back to his last comment he’d made and tried to work out what might have transformed the anxious worried Harry into a spitting and shoving one. 

“About your scar?” he probed quietly.   
The Avada green eyes darkened in a way much like they had when Harry had been upset over Hagrid. He took a leap of faith.  
“I know that I gave it to you. That is.. my other self did.”

“How did you find out?!” Harry snarled.

“You just told me.”

Harry stepped back quickly, horrified. “You.. you..” He seemed to be about to flip back into livid anger. 

“I had actually only mentioned it out of curiosity because I thought it rather pretty. How was I to know you would react this way?!” 

The other boy was shaking as if he were deciding between running out of the room or leaping on him and pounding him.   
Tom wondered about the scar. Draco had told him that he had attempted to kill Harry Potter when the boy was a child but that something had gone wrong. Somehow he had destroyed himself for a number of years. Was the scar perhaps related to that event, as opposed to any of the subsequent conflicts that Draco had mentioned?! It was speculation, however it felt correct. He made a note of it and pushed the thought aside.

“And since I doubt very much you are going to tell me anything further about it, forget I mentioned it.”He shrugged, retaining a calm appearance and turned back to the wardrobe, absently retucking the towel at his waist which had loosened with the shove.

Behind him, Harry was silent. 

Tom kept his attention focused on him in case he decided to erupt again. With half an eye he rifled through the wardrobe till he found another decent shirt in pale green and a pair of grey trousers. The shade of green was not optimal for his colouring, he thought – but it was hardly relevant today. 

“Why do you always dress that way?!” 

What way? Tidily? - Tom wondered, turning and raising an eyebrow. “Why are you still here?!” 

Harry made a face and folded his arms over his chest.   
The way the boy looked when half-clothed was of no importance whatsoever, Tom told himself, keeping his eyes turned away. He retrieved a pair of boxer shorts from the drawer and was about to slip them on when they were snatched from his hand. 

“What do I need to say or do to apologise?!” Harry demanded irritably, glaring down at him. “It was a stupid idea. I’m a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin. I wanted to know that spell – I thought an ultimatum would work. I’m sorry. Goddamn it - Would you stop getting dressed now?!”

Tom snorted, un-amused and retrieved another pair of boxer shorts.   
“No.”   
He bent and slipped them on, unfastening the towel and tossing it in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Harry.. You wish something from me.. I do not require you in any way. Even when your wand is pressed to my throat you do not control me. If you are armed.. it is because I allow you to be.   
...Should I generously offer to teach you something – I expect you to respond with graciousness and obey unquestioningly. I have no intention of attempting to teach you something I know that you cannot manage – it would be a waste of my time at best and dangerous for us both at worst. Impress me with how quickly and easily you master easier spells and in time I might teach you some more complex alternatives.”

The other boy’s face brightened and softened in relief. “So you’re still going to teach me?!”

“I am still deciding.. Certainly not today, however. I was not speaking simply to hear the sound of my own voice. I am annoyed with you. We are finished for today. I will neither share knowledge nor my body with you today.”

It was gratifying the way the attractive face fell in disappointment.   
“But.. I apologised” he said almost plaintively

“Apologies are the coin of Gryffindors, Harry. Slytherin’s never apologise – rather they offer reconciliatory gifts to compensate for whatever loss they inflicted.”

The way the other boy furrowed his brows, he was trying to apply this to his experiences of Slytherins.   
“As far as I’ve seen – Slytherin’s aren’t very generous either.. but ok... what do you want?!”

Tom, pulling on his trousers, shook his head slowly.   
“The point is for you to have some idea of what manner of thing the one you have offended desires and to offer something independently, rather than clumsily requiring them to demand something from you. But I see that you are making an effort.”   
“There are many things I desire, Harry. Most of them are simply pieces of information.   
I desire to know why you reacted so severely to the mention of your scar.. I would like to understand what exactly happened that led to Rubeus Hagrid being expelled ...but I do not think you will be prepared to offer me that kind of information.   
I would like a list of who is presently authorised to enter these chambers, as well as a copy of Hermione’s timetable, in order that I might know whether someone entering the chambers is likely to be her, as opposed to a potential threat.   
Conversely – I asked Hermione quite politely yesterday whether she might bring me some books from the library. The topics are irrelevant, provided that the books are published after 1970. I would like to read something that I have not read several hundred times already. Dumbledore has filled these chambers with books that I have already spent decades upon.”

Harry bit his lip, frowning, as if in thought.   
“I..don’t know..if I’m allowed to give you any of that.   
And I don’t know who’s allowed to come in here either. Hermione.. Professor Dumbledore, Snape I guess. Me.. I don’t know if Ron is still keyed to the door after... well I think he might not be keyed to the door anymore. Some of the other Professors could be. I guess maybe Madam Pomfrey too.."

“You have not told me any more than I could have guessed for myself, Harry. Do you at least know Hermione’s timetable?”

Harry looked uncertain again.   
“I’m pretty sure that if she didn’t give it to you, then she doesn’t want you to have it.”

Tom rolled his eyes and started to button his shirt quickly. “Hermione and I are not currently seeing eye to eye. If believe it would not matter at present what I asked her for or how justified my reasoning, she would refuse obstinately - just as she refused to bring me books yesterday.”

“Professor Dumbledore is a bit er.. insistent.. at the moment about what we can and can’t do here. He told us three times not to bring any books in here that he hadn’t approved. I don’t think she really could bring you books from the library.”

Tom’s eyes drifted to the book on the bedside table. Elemental magic. So the old bastard truly was trying to force him to read particular texts. 

“Did he mention anything about taking books away?! Are you allowed to do that?” Tom asked in a low voice. 

Harry gave him a strange look and shrugged. “I guess.”

“Good.”   
He did up the last button and then strode to the bedside table and picked up ‘elemental magic.’   
“Get dressed, Harry.” he instructed absently for what felt like the umpteenth time. “You will take away a selection of books for me. I don’t care what you do with them. Leave them in the library, burn them, sell them in Knockturn alley, but I would like you not to mention to anyone that you have removed them.”

“Er.. I don’t know if that’s a good-“

Tom tossed the door to his bedroom closed on his way out, shutting off the protesting Gryffindor. 

It took him minutes to locate all of the ‘new’ books among those he knew cover to cover backwards. He summoned parchment from Hermione’s desk and transfigured it into empty duplicates of the books Dumbledore had planted, levitating them back to their places on the shelves. By the time Harry came downstairs, he had the books ordered neatly in a stack and there were no gaps at all in the bookshelves.

“Here are the books I do not want” he informed unnecessarily.

Harry still looked worried at the thought of potentially doing something that Professor Dumbledore would be upset about.

“Have you told him that I am going to teach you defensive spells?” Tom asked pointedly.   
The expression on the green eyed boy’s face screamed ‘are you crazy?!’  
“Well then, this is no different. Tell me, Harry, would you like Professor Dumbledore interfering with your mind?! With your ability to reason rationally?!”

Harry sighed and drew his wand, shrinking down the books till they fit in his pocket.

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t do that to me.” he muttered. “I’ve no idea what is supposed to be wrong with these but if he put them here, they’re probably for your own good in some way.”

Tom nodded “Of course. And he’s never secretly fed a student potions to get answers out of them either. What time will you return tomorrow?”

“He hasn’t ever given students potions! I’m not going to believe lies about Professor Dumbledore, Tom – you can give up now!”

Tom didn’t dignify it with a response.

“I’ll be back.. before lunch again. I have a free when Hermione has Arithmancy.”

Nodding he gestured in the direction of the door. Harry complied, walking off, before turning when he’d almost reached it.   
“Hey.. did you sleep last night?!” he asked, as if suddenly remembering. 

“No.” Tom responded shortly and stalked away in the direction of his room. He heard the door close when he reached the top of the staircase.

 

He ignored Hermione when he heard her return later that evening. All seemed peaceful until he heard her calling for Crookshanks. There were sounds of her moving around, probably peering under furniture. She opened the door to the apartment again and he could imagine her looking out into the corridor, worried. Finally she stomped up to his room frantically, to find him lying comfortably on his bed with Crookshanks asleep on his stomach. 

The horror on her face when she’d seen it. One would have thought she had come in to find him dancing around flinging the cat’s entrails like streamers. 

“WHAT are you doing with my cat?!” she demanded. “How did you even get your claws into him?! He was locked in my room!!”

Tom took a minute to digest the rude attack. 

“I am stroking your cat and serving as a convenient pillow, as I am sure you can see. I did not.. as you so politely put it.. get my claws into him-“ he inspected his manicured nails for a moment before looking back at the frizzy haired harridan. “-I did not so much as call him. He came to me. You did not lock him in your room this morning. You locked your room this morning. I believe you were distracted while you were being rude to me. Crookshanks was sleeping on the sofa when you rushed off feeling pleased with yourself for denying me yet another reasonable request.”

If it was possible, her anxious annoyance grew. “I was not rude to you. You asked for something unreasonable and I explained it was not possible. Give my familiar back now!”

“I am not restraining him in any way, Hermione. He is sleeping comfortably. Take him if you insist upon disturbing him to satisfy your own insecurity.”   
She hesitated.  
“One would think you would be eager to leave him with me. Many say that stroking a cat is calming. Perhaps I might sleep.”

Her face crumpled into apprehension. She came closer looking miserably uneasy. 

“Please don’t do this” she said without a waver in her voice, although it was clear that it cost her a lot to get it out.

“What am I doing now that is unsatisfactory? Stroking your cat? Speaking with you calmly?”

“You know what. Don’t scheme your way into my bed. Don’t stubbornly make yourself ill by staying awake and possibly even somehow counteracting the effects of potions until Professor Dumbledore practically forces me to let you sleep next to me.. I know that you can but please just don’t!”

“You could simply invite me..” he observed quietly, his eyes upon the orange monster snoring softly on his stomach. “An invitation can be rescinded when inconvenient.. If you insist upon being difficult, then I will be obliged to press the issue.”   
Glancing up at her, he took in the wide eyed fretful hand-wringing and wondered whether she was truly that reluctant. The thought was followed by a query why he should care if so.

“Look.. I’m sorry for being rude to you” she started and he rolled his eyes thinking that he was going to have to have the same conversation with her that he’d had with Harry only hours before. Gryffindors!   
“And.. I’m sorry for calling you a child. A few times. possibly. But I really.. I’m not ..um.. comfortable.. being close to you. I have a boyfriend.. who I love.”

At that he did snort and roll his eyes.   
“Indeed? On what basis have you determined that you ‘love’ the red headed moron that you brought here?!   
While we are on the topic - as far as I have been informed – the drip has already told the entire school that I am here. Either he is an imbecile, or he hopes that someone else will take the initiative and eliminate me. I am leaning toward the first interpretation as I doubt he has the capacity to plot strategically.

The girl fluffed up like a chicken going to battle. “Actually, I’ll have you know – Ronald is the best chess player in the school. He’s quite adept at thinking strategically!” 

Tom raised his eyebrows, already entertaining the possibility that ‘Ronald’’s little slip might have been an intentional play. If so, it would require an immediate response.  
“In that case, Hermione – you are telling me that you believe your boyfriend has deliberately gone against the will of the headmaster, yourself, and all decent moral standards, to increase the chances of my being assassinated or abducted – and what’s more – that you support his actions.”

She frowned. “No.. that’s.. that’s not what I said at all! I just disagreed with you when you called him a moron.”

“And yet you believe him to be a moron! He embarrasses you!” Tom found he was enjoying this. 

“No he doesn’t! How can you say that!? You’ve met him once! You don’t even know him.”

“Hermione.. There are only two alternatives – either you believe Ronald intentionally revealed that I am here – In which case you believe him to be intelligent and malicious. OR.. you believe he did so unintentionally – i.e. you believe he is a harmless idiot. Which is it?!”

She folded her arms and glared. “Neither. I believe Ron is a wonderful, well-meaning boy who can sometimes be a little excitable and speak before he thinks. This does not say that he does not have dozens of other positive qualities which balance the occasional thoughtless comment.”

Tom smirked and nodded. “Keep telling yourself that! ...The next time he says something unflattering about you in front of others, ignores any or all of your interests and preferences or offers an uncouth remark about another witch he finds attractive – remind yourself of all of his dozens of positive qualities.   
...I would advise you however, not to attempt to enumerate them – as I believe you will find yourself coming up short quite quickly. Ronald’s most positive quality is that he is no longer able to enter these chambers independently and is therefore not here.”

Hermione looked suddenly quite unhappy and tightened her arms around herself. He watched it with hidden delight. He had struck a nerve. She was truly dissatisfied with the idiotic redhead. Now was the time to be compassionate.  
Gathering up Crookshanks he carefully got up from the bed and approached her slowly. The wary glare she wore remained frosty but she did not break into flight.   
He stepped close and very cautiously passed her the large floppy cat. She took him with relief so great that he could almost taste it. 

“It really is quite comforting to stroke a cat” he said softly. “I thank you for forgetting him this morning. I have not had much experience...with animals.”   
He stroked the cat gently on its flat little head. A pink tongue protruded between its lips and it started purring like a motor at his touch. 

Hermione looked stunned.

She walked out of the room as if she’d been hit with a bludger. He heard her descend the stairs, cross the room and then ascend the stairs into her own room. Her door was closed quietly.

Sighing, he considered what to do with the rest of the night. It would be several hours until it was safe enough to venture down with Draco’s wand and examine the wards on the door.  
He wandered off toward the balcony. 

The sun had recently gone down and the faintly luminescent blue was still present in the sky although the school grounds were dark. A few of the brighter stars were appearing in the sky. The rain he had anticipated earlier had not come after all. The sky looked quite clear although the scent of autumn was still detectable on the cold night air.

He mused on what his other self might be doing. He had not heard anything back yet. Surely Draco should have returned.   
Perhaps the security precautions surrounding his little ‘cell’ had been increased in light of Ronald’s slip.   
Perhaps the youngest Malfoy was dead. 

Although, perhaps it was for the best that he had heard nothing. Rescue was likely to be tantamount to abduction and incarceration elsewhere. The creature that his other self had become did not appear to be someone that he himself might be safe around. It would be more likely that he would use him for potions ingredients to restore himself, than that he would protect him and allow him to inform himself on all that had occurred in the wizarding world while he was in the diary.   
The ‘cell’ he was held in here was more comfortable than anywhere else he had resided in his life. Elves brought him food. He had two entertaining objects of desire to play with and, at least today, Dumbledore had remained elsewhere.   
No doubt incarceration by his other self would not be as pleasant. 

Perhaps then, he had to consider exactly what he wished to do; Whether he really required his freedom or not. It was loathsome to be locked away anywhere.. but he could not risk escape and possible capture by his other half unless he knew exactly what the likelihood of capture was and what it would entail.

Until then he would quietly continue building his defences and chipping away at Dumbledore’s chains. Even if he decided it was best to remain here – it was always advisable to be prepared for every eventuality.


	12. Chapter 12

“Good kitty..” Tom praised the cat as it stumbled toward him in transfigured form. The impression evoked was of himself suffering from severe mental retardation. Crookshanks mastery of bipedal motion was rudimentary at best – although it was improving in leaps and bounds, fuelled by the cat’s desire for more shredded chicken and milk.   
He took another few steps backward, beckoning to the cat to continue and brandishing the small piece of chicken.  
“Chicken? Come here Crookshanks. A little further”   
His mentally challenged doppelganger extended its tongue foolishly and tried to lick its nose as it scuffed another two paces closer, wobbling on its feet unsteadily. 

It reached him and he placed the bite of chicken in its mouth, grimacing at the sight of his own face gormlessly chewing twice and swallowing, then mewling pitifully for more.

“You are an excellent cat, aren’t you” he commended it and patted its head. The human-Crookshanks butted his hand and then dropped to its hands and knees again where it proceeded to lick its arm rather thoroughly.  
Tom cast tempus again.   
He had a bad feeling today for some reason. Dumbledore had not been to visit him for several days. With each day, his arrival became more likely.. more pendulous. At the moment Tom was worried that he might appear unexpectedly while Harry was here. He would be arriving within half an hour now. 

He was feeling somewhat exhausted today, after spending another night examining the wards on the door. Although he was accustomed to being awake continuously, his physiology was protesting the complete lack of sleep.   
It had been two days now.   
He was noticing a certain lethargy.. a difficulty in maintaining concentration. His vision was blurry sometimes and he had to blink and rub at his eyes to clear it.   
These signs of fatigue, coupled with the thought of a possible visit from Dumbledore, worried him. In all likelihood he would be able to sustain his occlumentic defences against the old goat if he came.. but the tiny concern that he might not.. well.. it was disquieting. He was questioning whether access to the mudblood’s bed was worth the risk. He could think of several alternate plans that did not involve being close to a hostile, if quite well formed, witch.   
Was it as simple as wanting to experience intercourse with her? Was his reasoning skewed by unwelcome hormones?   
Of course it was. He could hardly ignore the burning desire to own her, filthy unworthy blood be damned. She had found him.. He was free through her actions. She had defended him when he was weak and confused, about to be severely hurt, if not killed, by Harry. She was infuriating and pretty and smelled of peaches. It had been so satisfying to hold her, the night he’d climbed into bed with her.  
Yes it was unwise and distracting to pursue her – but he had never been very good at denying his own desires. Hermione was a shiny red yoyo that he was not allowed to play with.

He had been slouching on the sofa pretending to read when she had come down that morning, her curls bouncing as she hurried down the stairs.   
She had startled when she’d found him there and, from the way she had paled, she had obviously recognised that he had been awake through the night. Again.   
Tom had narrowed his eyes at her when she took extra care to lock Crookshanks in her room before she wished him a good morning in a clipped voice and left for classes. 

It irritated him that she was so stubborn. He had made attempts to connect with her amicably and at each juncture she had been defiant. He had tried to intimidate her into obedience. Success had been limited. At the time she had complied...to a certain extent. But in the end she was frightened, angry but still, inevitably stubbornly defiant.  
Perhaps he was overthinking the matter. If he wanted her.. he could simply take her...   
Much like the red yoyo that he had, after persuasion failed, stolen and kept all for himself.  
She didn’t even need to know. He could have her and then brush the memory away when he was finished. He could do it as often as he liked, if he wanted. There was nothing to stop him raping and obliviating her.  
..although.. if he forced her and Dumbledore or Snape learned of it, she would be removed after all. ...and with her, the orange cat.   
If he wished to rid himself of the necklace, Hermione’s presence within the head chambers had to continue.   
He could not risk any experimentation with placing the necklace on the transfigured cat until Dumbledore had visited once again. The last thing he required was to be caught in the act of slipping his chains onto a transfigured doppelganger. 

The time growing short now, he transfigured the idiot replica of himself back into a large fluffy orange cat and offered it a dish of milk, before taking the opportunity to go and shower and redress himself for the new day. When he had finished, he unwarded Hermione’s bathroom door and called the fat orange feline, replacing it in her room and warding it in.

He almost expected to find Dumbledore or Snape waiting for him when he descended the stairs to the Heads common room but the room revealed itself to be devoid of old suspicious wizards.   
It would actually have been a relief to find one of the professors waiting, he realised. He would know then that they would not arrive at an inopportune moment while he was with Harry. 

Said boy entered the door, without knocking, only moments after he had positioned himself in a chair by the fire  
Harry hesitated, a couple of steps into the room, looking over at him with nervous mien. At Tom’s raised eyebrows, he moved another couple of steps closer and then fumbled in his pocket.   
“I.. um.. You said you wanted a book..right?”

Tom brightened and moved to rise from the chair. “it would be better to go upstairs, don’t you think.” He shot a quick glance at the floo and gestured the other boy in the direction of his room.   
Harry seemed both relieved and even more flighty as he nodded and walked quickly with tight posture in the direction of the stairs. Tom followed, observing the tension vibrating off him. He wondered whether Harry was more worried about displeasing him or about failing to convince him to teach advanced defense spells.

The older boy had moved toward the bed as soon as he entered the room but had then seemed to think better of it and veered away toward the balcony. Now he was lingering in the centre of the room, looking around furtively.  
Closing the door quietly, Tom followed.   
“What have you brought me, Harry?” he enquired calmly, refusing to allow the pleased anticipation to build, as it would surely only be dashed when the boy revealed an utterly worthless tome.

“Er.. I don’t know if its something you might like to read. I saw Hermione reading it at some point..a few years ago.” He pulled a small thick book out of his pocket and drew his wand to resize it, offering it then to Tom.

‘Introduction to Arithmancy’ Tom read. A second year text. Although his initial reaction was one of disappointment at the banality of the unchallenging text, he subdued it and considered the book again. An introductory text usually contained some history and a distillation of the most basic principles. It was possible that the book might hold revisions of some formulae or even new areas of analysis.   
He looked up and gifted the nervously fidgeting boy with an appreciative smile.

“Thank you, Harry. I will enjoy reading it.” 

Harry practically radiated relief as he smiled back and mumbled something unintelligibly that might have been “you’re welcome.”

After placing the book underneath his pillow, Tom turned back toward the fidgeting boy with a speculative expression. Would it be worse to be interrupted while physically intimate with Harry or while teaching him defense spells!? The heavy ominous feeling had grown and he felt almost certain that they would be interrupted.  
Better to be caught in flagrante with the boy than in anything that might resemble an attack or duel, he reasoned.

Walking slowly closer he took in the nervous shifting of his ‘enemy.’ Harry nevertheless held his ground, a determined set to his shoulders. He looked like a Gryffindor gearing up for a foolish dare.  
When Tom, apropos of nothing, reached for his robe fastenings, he blanched slightly, stepping back a half step.   
“Don’t you want to..teach me something..first?” he asked hopefully.   
Tom shook his head slowly, moving to follow him and again reaching for the robe fastenings. This time Harry remained still and allowed himself to be unbuttoned. A quick glance caught the pretty green eyed seventh year wetting his lips nervously.   
“I.. I’m not entirely” he started to say before Tom roughly dragged his shirt from his pants and delved his hands beneath. Whatever Harry was ‘not entirely’ was lost in the older boy’s gasp and low moan of pleasure.   
Tom would have liked to purr too. Harry’s skin was so warm. The other boy’s body felt so good against his fingers; firm and muscled and making his entire hand tingle. He explored the topography beneath Harry’s shirt, stroking his palms up the taller boy’s chest and dragging the shirt with them.   
Harry swayed slightly toward him, his eyes half lidded and pupils dilating.   
“Take it off.” Tom murmured, stroking his hands over Harry’s lean muscled chest and then back down his sides. This drew a gratifying shiver from the older boy and then, even better, Harry obeyed, reaching for his shirt and dragging it up and over his head, letting it and his robes drop to the middle of Tom’s floor. 

Tom smiled, slightly dazzled by the sight of the gorgeous older boy currently looking down at him with parted lips and ruffled black hair. Blindly, his hands were already trailing down for Harry’s top trouser button.   
They were caught and dragged away before Harry reached for Tom’s own shirt and vest. He met no resistance. If not for the fact that he held no wand right now and didn’t wish to emphasise his wandless abilities, Tom would have divestoed them both and dragged the older boy impatiently to the bed. The garments were dragged up off him and tossed aside.   
He let his head fall back in pleasure when Harry’s large hot hands stroked his back experimentally, setting off a mind melting tingle in his nerves and spine. As one hand migrated around his body to stroke the backs of its fingers up his chest and trace a slow circle around the small hardening nipple on his (as yet rather underdeveloped) pectoral muscle, he gasped softly, his eyes falling closed in bliss.   
A finger stroked down the centre of his flat chest before it retreated again, although Harry’s other hand remained resting lightly upon the small of Tom’s back. 

When nothing further happened, Tom opened his eyes to find the dark haired older boy looking down at him with a faintly troubled expression. The haze in his eyes had faded slightly.  
“You know..” Harry mumbled low, sounding guilty “this is probably against the law. I feel a bit like a..funny uncle or something. You just look.. so..so..fourteen.”

Tom felt like he’d been slapped.  
He’d been enjoying Harry’s slow tender exploration. It had seemed that the other boy desired him.. and then to be suddenly informed that touching him felt like molesting a child.. It was worse than anything that the mudblood had spat at him – and those things had annoyed him greatly at the time.   
He stepped back in pained discomposure, tearing himself away from the other boy’s hands, as they reached ineffectually to keep him from retreating.   
“I..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean..” Harry babbled, clumsily.  
“I don’t want to hear it.” Tom snapped coldly. “I will not listen to your lies to cover the truth you wish you had not revealed. Just... just..be quiet.”

He folded his arms uncomfortably and strode toward his crumpled shirt and vest on the floor near the foot of the bed. When he picked it up and started to turn it back the right way in, it was torn abruptly from his hands and then he found himself captured in the tight embrace of the larger boy’s arms. The sudden overwhelming rush of pleasure was difficult to fight. He felt even angrier that he found it so difficult to resist and struggled, pushing and tearing at Harry with wandless magic, trying to toss him away as he had Draco when the boy had gone too far.   
“Stop!” the larger boy growled from within the sudden seething maelstrom as they both slid a few steps backward; Tom was dragged with him when Harry wouldn’t release his tight hold around him.   
“I didn’t say I don’t want it” Harry spluttered desperately, clamped around the smaller boy like a boa constrictor, His head bowed and cheek pressed against Tom’s forehead. “Just that other people might think I was...hurting you.. or something.. It was just that.. alright?! Stop now!”

With extreme will power in light of the fact that he was still upset and frustrated, Tom forced himself to calm down somewhat. The rushing air around them stilled again and he felt the arms around him lose some of their tension.  
“Bloody hell..” Harry muttered with unsettled ire. “You and Voldemort need to find less violent ways of reacting to things that piss you off. It’ll probably turn out that this entire war is over some stupid half arsed comment someone made to you at some point god only knows when.”  
Tom did not answer although he filed away the fact that the wizarding world (or at least the part of it that contained Harry) was apparently at war with his other self.   
He was still feeling somewhat annoyed and resentful, even if the sensation of being held gently against the larger boy’s chest was seductively lulling his body to relax and forget about the petty issue preventing him taking further pleasure in Harry’s body.

Cautiously, Harry’s arms loosened till he could stroke Tom’s back again. It felt so good. Hating himself for it, but seeing no other way that he might escape the ongoing slur regarding his physical appearance, Tom hissed petulantly “I will take an aging potion. You will bring me the ingredients that I require.”

He resisted when Harry’s hands went to his shoulders, pushing him away slightly, but the other boy, it seemed, wanted only to see his face. From the incredulous disapproving and slightly guilty expression Harry presented, this solution was not enthusiastically embraced.

“You’re not taking an aging potion. You don’t need one. And even if you really wanted one for reasons other than my stupid mouth - I can’t bring things in here easily without anyone noticing and there’s no way I can bring you some random bunch of ingredients for a potion I know nothing about – You’d never be able to brew it anyway since Professor Snape would be able to smell an ingredient in here from the other end of the school and he’d know whatever you were making and then he’d kill me. I’d owe him so much detention that I’d have to use a time turner to fit it all in before graduation.” Harry smirked faintly at that thought, his fingers on Tom’s shoulders massaging absently. 

Tom scowled back, unconvinced.  
“It would be more satisfying for us both if I were older..” 

Furrowing his brows, Harry sighed softly.   
“Maybe” he admitted. “Or maybe..it would just remind me of..” he hesitated and bit his lip. His verdigris eyes snapped to Tom’s own, searching within them uncertainly.   
“Of?” Tom prompted quietly, knowing that the other boy would backpedal at full speed now.  
Astoundingly Harry didn’t.  
“Of..the other diary Horcrux” he finished in a barely audible mumble. 

Tom blinked, surprised. That had slipped his mind! When he’d first met Harry, the boy had known what he was. Upon learning that he had been trapped in a diary, the response had been something along the lines of ‘another one?!’ He had wondered..but of course Dumbledore had forbidden anyone from telling him things about his other self. Draco had provided information on the diary itself.. but not the events that had occurred immediately prior to its destruction.   
Of course he hadn’t known that Harry had seen the other horcrux. Had it successfully resurrected itself then?!

“Will you tell me...what happened?” he asked, scarcely daring to hope that Harry might.

Harry was again indecisive and defensive. “No. I’m not allowed. Dumbledore-.”

“How old was he?” Tom interrupted quickly.

Harry swallowed, seeming to deliberate for long seconds and then answered hesitantly “He was a sixth year.” after a moment he added softly “-..I was in my second year.”

There was a faint heaviness in the way that the other boy said it and Tom knew that Harry would refuse to reveal any more. He provoked him even so.  
“Was he attractive?” 

Harry’s hands dropped from Tom’s shoulders abruptly as he stepped back from him, looking down at him as if Tom were barking mad,.   
“I was TWELVE!! He set a bloody twenty foot basilisk on me. No. No he wasn’t attractive – he was bloody terrifying.”

Shocked, Tom automatically wanted to know how Harry had escaped. But, with the loss of skin contact bringing them both to full awareness once more, It seemed that story hour was at a close. The other boy clammed up and refused to say any more about the matter, restating only that Tom didn’t need an aging potion.

Still.. it was encouraging that Harry had brought him an illicit book and now, against Dumbledores orders, shared information with him. He was getting to him.

“I think I might be willing to teach you some defensive spells now” he offered generously, wanting to reward Harry. The unusual green eyes flickered slightly with something like disappointment before settling on relief.

“Thank you” Harry said quickly. “About yesterday.. um.. I won’t do that again.. that is.. well.. you know. Insisting on that spell and then.. with the threat and ..everything else. Really - anything you’re willing to teach me is good.”

Tom revelled in the vastly improved attitude of the older boy.  
“I am glad you feel that way – as I’m going to begin with some fairly basic spells. As I said – I will teach you more advanced spells only if you give me reason to believe you can handle them.”

Harry nodded at once, his expression determined. He could just as well have screamed around the room that he intended to prove himself and persuade Tom to teach him the advanced defense spell he wanted most.

“Your wand, if you please” Tom demanded lightly.

Harry seemed to remember for the first time that he had left his wand in his robe pocket, said robes now tangled up in a pile on the floor. Had he needed it, he wouldn’t have been able to get at it easily. He moved to retrieve it just a little too hurriedly. Then there was a moment of hesitation in which the other boy struggled to master his expression before he finally offered it to Tom handle first, his eyes intent..almost pleading with Tom not to make him regret the move.  
It was laughable, really. The boy was virtually helpless with his wand. Taking it from him did not significantly increase the risk he was placing himself in by coming here. 

Accepting the wand and swishing it lightly, Tom mused again on how well it responded.. how right it felt in his hand. Almost like his own. He used the wand to transfigure a sock from his drawers into a wooden imitation wand. Although he could have easily done so wandlessly, he preferred not to do so in front of Harry. Moreover – it was a psychological hurdle to bring the boy to the point where he would hand over his wand without a second thought. He tossed the imitation wand at the sable haired boy, who caught it nimbly.

“I will demonstrate – you will imitate – I will correct your movements as needed and then you will attempt the spell with a wand.”

Harry’s face scrunched up slightly. “Is that really necessary? We try spells for the first time in class all the time. Why do I have to practice with a toy wand first?! Its just going to waste time that you could be teaching me more spells in”

Tom rolled his eyes and flicked a stinging hex at the twit, drawing a slight flinch and scowl from him as he rubbed his chest where the hex had landed. 

“It is not really necessary with basic level spells such as those we will be working upon today. I wish you to develop the habit however. Certain higher level spells – in particular the spell about which we quarrelled yesterday - are extraordinarily dangerous to learn. A minute deviation from the correct wand movement can destabilise and.. in the worst case implode the energy matrix one is constructing. It is best to develop the habit of honing a complex new spell by means of an imitation wand, preferably before a mirror. Only when the movements are fluid and precise, the timing of the incantation perfect and automatic, should the spell be attempted with a wand.

The other boy seemed to think about this as if it were an entirely novel concept to him. 

Tom wondered what exactly students learned in Defense and charms classes these days. In his own time, professor Merrythought had been fanatical about adequate preparation and minimisation of risks. She had drummed into them that it was dangerous to treat spells lightly as there was no clear division between high and low magic; even certain low level spells such as the sepsis spell and the canary conjuring charm could harm the wizard who performed them incorrectly.   
Tom had actually mourned the loss of the chance to attend fifth, sixth and seventh year defense classes, while he was trapped in the diary.

“Pay attention. This is the most basic semi-permeable bubble shield. It costs little to cast. It will allow most spells to pass through it with the exception of the Morrigae series, which were conceived with the intent of bypassing simple single layer bubble shields. Fiendfyre and the unforgiveables will also destroy it if cast from within.”  
Tom barely twitched the tip of his wand and a pale blue bubble glowed around him for a fraction of a second before vanishing. 

Harry nodded attentively but furrowed his brow in frustration.   
“that was-“ he started

“Yes. I realise that it was difficult to identify the wand movement. That is the speed and level of subtlety with which you must cast all shield spells when you have mastered them. Many are intended to mimic the casting of others, although behave quite differently to them.   
I will show you each spell, as it should be used and then I will teach you the movement and incantation. Ideally you will incant silently, however for the purposes of instruction – I wish you to incant aloud until you have demonstrated the capacity to cast the spell several times without fault.”

Slowly, he repeated the spell, exaggerating his wand movements and incanting aloud on the half turn and flick   
“bullauxilium”   
The blue bubble flickered into being once more. 

Harry stepped closer and asked him to cast it again. On the third try he moved to stand beside Tom and looked sideways at his hand, trying to ape the movement. He caught the rhythm and shape of it quickly and when Tom offered him the wand, cast it perfectly upon the first try. 

Pleased, Tom repeated the process with another three bubble shields of varying types; The first variable in size, the second several orders stronger, the third castable over external objects rather than oneself.   
He deliberated on teaching Harry another related shield which laid the protection seamlessly over one’s skin, thereby avoiding the telltale blue flicker during casting, but decided against it as it was difficult to detect and for the moment he preferred to be able to identify when the other boy was shielding.  
He had instead moved to teach him a shield that was particularly suited to layering, due to its low energy cost and stability. 

Harry was quite quick to pick it up and he was smilingly praising him and preparing to return his wand when the sword of Damocles that had been hanging over his head all morning finally plunged. 

“Potter!! What in merlin’s name ..?!!” The severe beak nosed professor gasped appalled at the unexpected discovery of a shirtless Harry with a similarly half naked Tom, and then his eyes sharpened, taking in the wand in Tom’s hand and he seemed to jolt in shock. “Fool!! What have you done?!! ” 

The wand attempted to sail out of Tom’s hand but he gripped it and tore it back out of the tug of the summoning spell, pressing it, without looking, into the unresisting hands of the shocked boy beside him who seemed to be looking, whether in confusion or embarrassment, for somewhere to escape.

The black vulture stalked into the room with a face like thunder. Tom did not move as he was promptly swaddled in ropes. They were scratchy and coarse against his bare skin.  
Severus Snape loomed over both of them, with thunderous rage in his black glare.. 

A flicker at the door drew Tom’s eye.   
Draco.   
The blond peered around the edge of the door cautiously, his silvery eyes flicking to Tom’s fearfully and then, in surprise, to Harry. A strange expression transformed his face. It had something of petulance and anger and quite a lot of jealousy. Tom recalled clearly Draco’s secret fascination.. nay obsession with the green eyed boy currently at his side. 

“Why, Potter, do I arrive to find..” The dour beaky man seemed to fumble for a name by which to refer to Tom. “-Riddle holding your wand?! I was under the impression that you had understood and agreed to the conditions imposed by the headmaster upon him. Did I hallucinate the two hours spent explaining in painfully simple terms exactly why each and every rule imposed upon you was necessary for your long and short term survival?! Perhaps the boy wrested it from you by force?! It did not appear so in view of your apish grin as I entered. WHY are you even here?! Are you weary of living?!”

“I’m allowed to be here!” Harry sniped back childishly. “Professor Dumbledore said I could visit Hermione whenever I want”

This seemed only to further incense the man hanging over them both and vibrating with anger.   
“Is that so?! Where then, is Miss Granger?! Were you playing hide and seek?! Is she perhaps in the wardrobe or under the bed? To my knowledge, she is in her Arithmancy class at present. You could hardly fail to know this, in light of your mutual attendance in transfiguration and herbology before and after this period.   
How then, are you visiting her here?!   
Evidently, you are not here to see your ..friend. So I ask again – WHAT possessed you to come here..alone.. to surrender your wand ...to him?!”

At that, Draco stepped three horrified steps into the room before his face twisted, with effort, into a sneer of amused incredulity.  
“Seriously?! You came here alone and gave him your wand?! Either you’re even more stupid than I gave you credit for or you’re finally realising that you don’t stand a chance of winning. Are you suicidal, Potter?!”   
The jeer did not quite convince Tom. Draco was legitimately shocked and concerned for Harry.

Harry obviously missed the dissonance and reacted like gunpowder to a match, bristling and puffing himself up for a fight.

“Shut it, ferret! What the hell are you doing here?! Snape – why are you bringing a bloody junior Death Eater to see Tom?!”

“Tom?!!” Draco seemed to almost yelp the syllable incredulously. “You’re on a first name basis with him?! And why the fuck are you both undressed?! Merlin’s balls! Are you shagging the Dark Lord, Potter?! Is it because it’s him and the idea of fucking the wizard that killed your parents gets you off - or do you just have a thing for underage boys?! Is this why no one’s ever seen you date?! - Because you’ll end up in Azkaban for pederasty if anyone finds out?! ”

The two began yelling at once. Tom stood calmly, watching all of this and considering possible responses. Snape too, he noted, seemed to be thinking about events, his eyes narrowed and flicking between Harry, Draco and Tom himself suspiciously. Draco was stamping closer with each yell and Harry seemed to be gearing up to hex him. Snape’s finger was tapping his wand. He would act soon.

“Harry.”  
Tom spoke quietly but it somehow managed to cut through the rabble and the green eyed boy’s head turned to him at once with burning eyes before he blanched at the disapproval in Tom’s gaze. He seemed to shrink somewhat, backing off, and avoided the eyes of the others.

Draco fell silent in dumbfounded disbelief. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to darken further. 

“In answer to your earlier question..Professor Snape” Tom said with clipped politeness, “Harry allowed me to use his wand in order that I might teach him a number of defensive spells.   
Inexplicably, it appears that the teaching of defense has degraded over the course of the last fifty years to the extent that he did not know second year shield spells.”

“And you believed that, Potter?! You thought he would teach you spells to defend yourself... from him?!”   
Draco sounded disgusted.   
Tom made a note of the youngest Malfoy’s more than questionable affiliations. No doubt his other self would be interested, if he was not already well aware of them.

The dark expression on Snape’s face sharpened into something calculating.   
“Demonstrate them, Potter. Show us what you have learned.” 

Harry faltered uncertainly and, to Tom’s abject delight, glanced at him as if seeking permission. He nodded subtly.  
It was gratifying to see the other boy perform flawlessly all four spells that he had cast before and then the fifth which they had been working upon when interrupted. He smiled approvingly at Harry, who looked pleased with himself.

“I..don’t.. under-”   
Draco seemed at a loss for words. He turned to Snape as if the older wizard would explain why Tom had apparently really been teaching Harry defensive spells. The wizard in question ignored him, his gaze fixed on Tom, with narrowed eyes.

“A ploy to garner the boy’s favour. Nothing more. Potter – you are the most infuriatingly dunderheaded lemming. Detention. With me. Two weeks. Now get out!”

Harry looked close to refusing, his eyes slid frustratedly to Tom as if expecting him to argue or contradict the professor’s order.   
While flattering, Tom was under no illusions about just how far he might push the older wizard.   
When Harry received only a meaningful glance at the door, he looked both disappointed and angry. 

“Fine” he muttered tightly and scuffed off out of the room. 

Draco followed his progress and seemed to want to go after him, but a curt “stay” From Snape halted his movement in place and he turned back guiltily.

There was the faint sound of the door closing downstairs.

As if having difficulty controlling himself, Snape’s top lip twitched into a momentary snarl before he released the incarcerous binding Tom.   
“You will not toy with Potter” he pronounced venomously. “I expect he will not be returning, therefore the warning is obviate. It may pertain however to any student with whom you are generously permitted contact. It would be ill-advised to continue to threaten Miss Granger, as she will be removed also, should I believe you intend serious harm upon her. Professor Dumbledore and myself will then be your sole outlets for conversation and intellectual stimulation.”

Tom shuddered internally at the thought of coming, in his isolation, to look forward to speaking with Dumbledore or Snape.

“I understand. I doubt you will believe me if I tell you that I was not ..toying.. with Harry, as you put it. I was bored. He is not exactly the type with whom I might engage in long involved discussions – teaching him was more interesting than rereading the same books for the thousandth time.   
I have not threatened Hermione either, as far as I can recall. I have been friendly and polite.. I have attempted to animate her to conversation. I..do not know what more I could do to persuade her that I mean her no harm.”

Both of his guests displayed blatantly dubious expressions. He waved it off and turned away, moving to sit on the end of his bed wearily.   
“What was the original purpose in your visit, Professor?” he asked. “Am I the subject of student tours now, or is this another potential outlet for conversation and intellectual stimulation?”  
Draco shifted uneasily and looked to professor Snape with barely veiled pleading. 

“I had ..originally.. thought to bring you a Slytherin with which to converse, yes.” The professor responded with barely a hitch. “Your lack of rapport with Miss Granger is obvious. Draco is the current head boy and previous occupant of these rooms. I wondered whether he might possibly be a more suitable companion for you.”

Chewing over this idea, Tom caught the implication clearly. A more suitable companion. As in.. instead of residing with Hermione.. he might reside with Draco.  
No. That was entirely undesirable. Not only had the youngest Malfoy behaved despicably upon the last occasion that he had met him, but having him here would be of no strategic value. If his loyalties were solid – he would no longer be able to easily move around Hogwarts and leave the school to contact Tom’s other self with messages. If he was a traitor, he would be protected here with a ready excuse for his unwillingness to attend upon his master and, in all likelihood, his health and emotional well being would be strictly monitored around Tom himself.   
Not only that but Hermione would be permanently out of reach and Harry would not have even the flimsiest reason to visit.   
No.   
Unacceptable.

“I take it that this meeting is to determine how compatible we might be in such an arrangement” Tom murmured quietly. 

“Possibly” was Snape’s answer.

“And are you remaining to chaperone or will we be permitted to speak together as we would, were we actually to reside here together?”

The delay stretched on longer this time. Draco seemed to be on tenterhooks, fiddling with his wand worriedly. 

“No. I will not remain.” Snape said finally. This was apparently not the answer that Draco wanted, he turned with observable fear in his eyes. 

“Severus!!..” he said imploringly, surprising Tom with the informality of the address

“Draco. We have discussed this.” Snape responded dismissively. “You are ..quite safe. He is fourteen, he is unarmed and, unlike Potter, you will not relinquish your wand to him.”  
The blonde looked at Tom in mortification, obviously wondering exactly where his wand might be now. Tom only smiled back innocently. Draco, having obviously kept their last meeting to himself for whatever reason, seemed to have no choice now but to agree to that assessment of circumstances.

“I will return for you shortly before dinner.” Snape seemed to scowl slightly. 

Tom suddenly, as if the man had announced it, comprehended that the decision to leave Draco here unattended was against Snape’s better judgement. It was logical to conclude that Tom’s other self had likely ordered Snape to bring Draco into his presence for a certain period of hours. Neither Snape nor Draco wished to comply but Draco would nevertheless be left with him, to whatever end Lord Voldemort had intended.   
He felt a warm glow of pride that his other self could exert his will even within Hogwarts.  
It was impossible to be certain whether the suggestion that Draco might permanently replace Hermione came from Snape, Dumbledore or Tom’s other self. There were various implications to each. More information was required to determine the intended purpose in sequestering Draco here with him, he decided

Something of his realisation must have showed on his face because Snape’s face darkened further and he took a half step closer, his wand gripped tightly, before thinking better of it and turning away in a whirl of black robe toward Draco.   
“Your wand, Draco” he demanded through his teeth.   
The blond actually whined softly as he gave it over, his eyes begging Snape not to leave him. The older wizard’s features were like stone as he stalked out of the room. 

Draco, after watching in disbelief as Snape descended the stairs, turned back in abject terror toward Tom, his hands shaking visibly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings!! This chapter will be too much for some people.

Tom smiled nastily, listening for the sound of the door or the floo. When it did not come he instructed Draco, in a quiet voice, to close the door. Draco grew even more frightened as he complied, stammering at him while Tom was trying to concentrate on detecting ambient spells in the room.

“What.. what are you going to do to me?!” he quailed. 

Tom shushed him impatiently, struggling to concentrate.   
There were three different detection and eavesdropping spells in the room. He had not even noticed Snape cast them. It took a further minute to destroy them, his eyes unfocussed as he struggled with the ephemeral traces to disable them.   
Draco, thankfully, stood all the while frozen in dread. The boy probably didn’t know what Tom was doing, which was good – if he’d chosen to attack him then, Tom would have been hard pressed to react in time and the other boy was physically far stronger – as he remembered clearly from his last acquaintance with him – Tom would not have been able to retaliate and throw Draco off while one of the detection spells dropped by Snape was sniffing for magic.   
Finally satisfied that the room was no longer ‘bugged’, Tom cast a strong sticking spell on the door and threw up a muffling charm.

“Now.. That’s better, isn’t it” he said conversationally. “How are you, Draco? I have to say, I was beginning to wonder whether you would return at all.. and, to judge from your behaviour today, It does not seem that you were intending to do so...”

Draco swallowed thickly and, with a miserable expression, dropped to his knees, lowering his eyes.  
“I.. I’m sorry. Truly sorry, I mean. For my..my behaviour.. last time... I realise that I deserved to ... to...” he gulped again. “To.. die.. for daring to ..uh... take liberties.. that is... not doing whatever you.. you ordered.. The Dark Lord p-punished me.. and.. and you can punish me.. I will make amends for...failing so completely.

Tom smiled wider, delighted at the change in the arrogant blonde.  
“I am pleased to hear it. Perhaps I will punish you later. Have you a message for me then?”

Draco nodded unhappily and crawled forward on his knees reluctantly till he knelt on the floor beside the bed, at Tom’s feet.   
After a few seconds of hesitation, he reached for the waistband of his school jersey and pulled it up and over his head, dropping it uncaring on the floor beside him. His school shirt followed, to Tom’s fascination. 

Was this somehow the message? Or was it perhaps hidden upon the boy somewhere? 

His eyes took in the sharp pale regal lines of the youngest Malfoy’s body, mentally comparing him to Harry, who he had been so recently appreciating.   
If anything, Draco was more perfectly formed: taller, more powerfully built, his shoulders broader, his muscles more defined, his hair perpetually silky and impeccably styled.   
Touching Draco had not evoked the same pleasure as touching Harry though. And Tom had always found himself more drawn to brunettes.. (such as the rogueish Alphard Black. He hoped idly that his other self had at some point led the younger student to his bed.)   
Draco was, however, even if not his ideal type, certainly every bit as aesthetically pleasing as he had been the last time Tom saw him, and his cowed behaviour served to render him even more attractive. 

Frowning slightly, Tom wondered what the purpose of his demonstrative disrobing had been. If there was a message, it did not seem to be written on the boy anywhere visible, and he had ceased removing clothing now.

With an expression of pure dread, Draco lifted and offered his left arm.   
“You.. you have to touch the mark. And order it to reveal itself in Parseltongue”  
It was curiously enticing, the way he appeared to brace himself as if expecting a blow.

Looking down at the trembling seventh year, Tom felt exactly the way he imagined children to feel while opening birthday presents. 

Gently he traced two fingers from Draco’s wrist, up the length of the black, shifting mark, following the line of the snake and noting the blonde wizard’s slight trembling below him. Moving them then to press gently against the snake’s head he hissed softly ::reveal yourself::

The words drew a pained gasp from Draco and then, at first, a long drawn out whimper, which only built to an agonised wail, as the blonde clenched his body, ducking his head and straining his muscles in reaction.   
Tom could see the cause of the torment.   
Bright raised burn lines were forming over the length of the other boy’s back. They revealed themselves as words – handwritten words in a tiny, beautifully flowing script. It seemed as if they had been made with a quill but they were too tiny and perfect – it had to be a transfer spell of some kind. Tom recognised his own handwriting. 

By the time the process had finished, Draco was slumped and snivelling pitifully while Tom gripped his wrist with one hand, holding his arm in place so that his other two fingers could remain on the head of the snake. Tentatively, when nothing further appeared, Tom removed first one finger then the other from the snake’s head. The message did not fade.   
He slipped off the bed and moved to kneel behind the crouching, weeping blonde.   
The angle was wrong, so he gripped Draco by his long silky hair and dragged him gently but firmly to kneel upright, murmuring for him to be still when his soft gaspy attempts to compose himself and brush his tears away made it difficult to read the letter penned upon his back.

"My own soul", the message started.

"Discovering you in Draco’s memories was a rare pleasure. It pleases me greatly to learn that you have escaped your confines. Although I expect you to doubt my sincerity - after all, you might imagine that I have had sufficient time to locate a means of restoring you. Indeed, I have had such means for several years now. Unfortunately, I have found myself no longer welcome within Hogwarts and, naturally unwilling to reveal your existence to potentially unreliable functionaries, elected to delay efforts to reclaim the diary. You have become acquainted with Snape and the younger Malfoy – I assume you would not have wished your fate entrusted to either?! While I have had and continue to have other more reliably loyal subjects within Hogwarts, their capacity for effective action is limited. I trust that this assuages your concerns regarding my treatment of you."

Tom did not think that it did, actually. The diary could have been retrieved by an innocent first year student without too much trouble.   
No.. he rather suspected that he had been left in his prison to serve as an object horcrux, whether against his will or not. His other self would never have retrieved him.. would never have released him, if left to his own devices. Even now – it was more likely that he was simply seeking to acquire his loyalty in order to prevent Dumbledore from gaining a potential weapon against him.   
Pursing his lips, Tom read on.

"You are understandably uninformed as to the course that the last decades have taken for me. I will summarise the pertinent “highlights” for you.   
In fifth year I cemented ties with my Death Eaters – which you would recall as Knights of Walpurgis. I created the mark – the operation of which you have evidently already comprehended. In sixth year I learned of the location of the last descendants of our maternal and paternal lines – both are now quite extinct. It is a particularly fond memory – perhaps when you come to me, I shall share it with you. That was also the year that I sought to continue Slytherin’s work by opening the chamber of secrets. Unbelievable as it may sound, this culminated in an award from Dippet for my duty to the school. Specifically, in constructing a horcrux and framing a fellow student for murder. It was an eminently satisfying year. In seventh year, I was given the post of Head Boy and succeeded in graduating with the highest NEWT results on record – that record remains unsurpassed, I have been given to understand. My other successes during that year were, to my mind, far more meaningful, alas I shall have to wait until you are with me to discuss them. You will understand my prudence, I think.

Following NEWTs, I applied unsuccessfully for two positions – the first as a defence teacher at Hogwarts and the second as an unspeakable. Both rejections were, I have confirmed, due to the influence of Dumbledore. The irrepressible bastard single-handedly confounded all of my career plans, souring those useful employers against me, despite my impressive qualifications. I worked, for a time, at Borgin and Burkes, one of the only places I could find employment. To think that I should be forced to become a glorified shop boy and procurer of stock! Oh it burned at the time – I swore to destroy Dumbledore. Unfortunately, as we see – the goat has proven rather more difficult to dispatch than I might have expected. The position was also, I concede, more useful than advertised. It enabled me to virtually disappear from the public world; to build a number of extremely useful contacts and to access rare dark texts and objects. Subsequently I travelled to Egypt, Romania, and finally Albania, in search of further knowledge. When I returned, almost a decade later, I began my first campaign to cleanse the wizarding world. My Death Eaters had served me well in my absence and I found a veritable army of impassioned wizards and witches waiting to heed the call.   
Those were great and dark years. My influence grew such that I became incontrovertibly the most feared dark wizard since Grindelwald. 

Draco has related to you, in broad terms, the matter of the prophesy, which was made to Albus Dumbledore and overheard by Severus Snape. The fragment revealed that a wizard would be born who would have the power to vanquish me, and suggested obliquely that the child would be born to one of two families, the Potters or the Longbottoms. I elected, unwisely as fate revealed, to kill the Potter child myself and sent several of my most loyal to kill the Longbottom child. It was, perhaps in part, my wish to reward Severus that led me to attempt to spare Potter’s worthless mudblood mother. The cursed filth then stepped into the path of the Avada I had intended for the child. I was infuriated and neglected to anticipate the probable result of her actions. The old-magic of her sacrifice repelled my spell when I again sought to kill the child. I was struck and my physical body destroyed. 

I spent the better part of the subsequent decade a formless shade, furious and almost powerless, possessing small creatures, before I finally came upon a susceptible human candidate. Within the wizard’s mind, I grew stronger and regained awareness, eventually overwhelming him. In the attempt to steal from Albus Dumbledore a magical object that might restore my physical form, I was obliged, rather ironically, to pose as a defence teacher at Hogwarts, where I again met the thrice damned boy who was responsible for my predicament. Harry Potter – the obnoxious, ignorant, outspoken wretch had become famous.. almost beloved.. for his undeserved victory! Close to gaining what I sought, Potter’s mother’s taint once again destroyed my borrowed body, rendering me little more than smoke and shadow. It required a further three years in this state for me to make contact with my living servants and, through them, to acquire a temporary homunculus body. After more than a year of suffering in that wretched form, carted about like a child, all my time spent planning and influencing events to manipulate Potter into a position whereby I might acquire him; it required, in the end, less than ten minutes to take from him what I needed and create a new body – a body no longer susceptible to the stain of old sacrifice. 

The body.. Yes. Draco’s memories showed clearly how disturbed you were by my present appearance. I was..somewhat infuriated.. by your reaction, before conceding that you could not begin to comprehend the circumstances surrounding its genesis. As one who has endured intangibility and physical discomfort for so long, I am rather more circumspect. This form is limited in some ways, and is certainly not as attractive as our natural form; however it enables the articulation of my will and, as a benefit, it terrifies even my servants. I am quite certain that, once here, you will adapt to my more serpentine features. 

Which brings me to present circumstances. No doubt you have already examined your environment carefully and devised plans by which you might elude the barriers within them. I would warn you that beyond the rooms in which you are confined, a complex mesh of blood-keyed wards are in place which will call alarm and render you immobile. Further out toward the periphery these become more lethal. You will not pass Hogwarts external wards alive.   
You have several options, as I see it. Firstly, you might wait, and in time I shall come and take Hogwarts by force, recovering you, should you still live. It is probable that you will not, as certain events will occur in the interim which may lead your gaolers to euthanize you in retaliation. Secondly – and preferably, I will instruct Draco to open a passage from the Room of Requirement into your chambers, through which you might pass, and from whence you might leave Hogwarts, circumventing the wards. The room cannot, under normal circumstances, evade the school wards and therefore escape will only be possible for a brief period in the course of another task that he is completing as punishment for his actions toward you. I have allowed him three months to complete it. Finally, if you cannot wait, you might decide to make your own way from the grounds. I can see few options for success. It is possible to floo from the headmaster's chambers, however that room is heavily warded and monitored, obviously. It is perhaps possible to extort your release by means of threatening the lives of the students. I rather suspect that Albus would kill you before he allowed you to escape if you chose to do that. Should you have an alternate route in mind and require assistance, I will provide it if it is possible to do so without endangering my interests too significantly.

Finally, to Draco – watch the boy’s memories. I orchestrated his punishment with your pleasure in mind. I think you will enjoy the performance. I have obliged Severus to leave Draco with you, that you might take what the impertinent little worm denied you upon your last encounter. He will be quite accommodating now. It is almost certainly unnecessary to remind you to obliviate him of the events involving this message unless you wish to face unrelenting interrogation as Albus and Severus attempt to divine its contents.

Respond, for the moment, using the boy’s body. ‘Coellopello’. Wand: up diagonal right 6in. 1 cw, Down 1in, up diagonal left 3in, right 3in, flick down diagonal left. Tap parchment, Press wand to intended site of transfer and hold till complete. To hide -use the mark and the parsel incantation ‘absorb’.   
I will look into a more convenient mode of communication for the future. 

L.V."

 

Tom sat back on his heels and blinked. His other half had sounded far more rational and reasonable than he had expected, from the short impression gained while watching Draco’s memories. It did not, by any stretch, mean that he would be safe with him. Lord Voldemort had expressed dissatisfaction with his present body and Tom represented a likely opportunity to improve his situation.   
As thought provoking as the letter was, it did not persuade him to immediately invest every effort into escaping. It led him to understand how Harry might be despised by the other part of his soul..but it did not leave him determined to destroy said green eyed boy either.   
Yes.. Harry was obnoxious and outspoken.. but he was also intriguing..exciting.. dangerous. It had not felt half as good to touch Draco. When he was close to Harry, he literally lost his senses. His mind unwound in the pleasure of it.   
Of course.. if Harry was no longer allowed within the chambers, then it really made no difference how desirable he might be – Tom had lost his opportunity to remove him from the world.

Sighing softly he turned his mind away from that matter. It remained to be seen whether Harry would return or not, and if he did – well.. it was better to cross that bridge when he came to it. For the moment he needed to decide what he intended to reply to Lord Voldemort.   
Rising to his feet gracefully, Tom paced off to retrieve ink and parchment from Hermione’s room, taking a moment to pen a brief response upon her desk. 

"L.V   
I thank you for your communique. I have not yet viewed Draco’s memories, however I anticipate that I will enjoy what you have chosen to show me and appreciate the time you have procured for me with the boy.   
I have made much progress toward defeating the internal restrictions within these chambers and will think on the information you have given me. More precise charting of the wards would be of benefit, although as I do not at present see a way to leave the grounds other than those you have listed, the capacity to leave the confines of the room may only be of use in communicating with you. I believe my best opportunity to leave will indeed be when Draco completes his task, whatever it might be. I imagine you have a reason for declining to be specific regarding it’s nature and will, at least for the moment, content myself with that.

I have met Harry Potter several times now. We duelled two evenings ago.. or rather – he attempted (rather pitifully) to attack me. He is almost entirely untutored. I could have killed him effortlessly.   
He is rather appealing however... I had intended to kill him but became somewhat distracted upon discovering that contact with his skin evokes a peculiarly pleasurable tingling effect. It is quite intoxicating. He seems similarly unwillingly drawn to me. I would think it a spell, were he not so ignorant magically. I suppose it may feasibly be something placed upon him by Dumbledore. If so, then it would appear that our most loathed professor wishes Harry and I to develop an intimate attachment to one another...   
I offered to ‘teach’ Harry defensive spells, principally as a means of ensuring his frequent return. Today, prior to the arrival of Severus and Draco, Harry learned five second year bubble shields and was very proud of his achievement. I cannot fathom how such a helpless creature might vanquish either of us, now that the effect of his mother’s sacrifice is no longer relevant.   
Are you absolutely, conclusively certain that the prophesy is both valid and referencing no other? Is it possible that it has already come to pass through the destruction of your body? What of the remainder of the prophesy? 

Can you confirm Dumbledore’s assertion that the mudblood, Hermione Granger, with whom I am sharing the Head’s quarters, is the most gifted student to attend Hogwarts since our time (or rather – your time, since I did not have the opportunity to sit the OWLs or NEWTs.)?   
I presume it was not your suggestion that Draco reside permanently with me here? Severus seems to want to remove the mudblood (I believe he has some particular regard for her in fact) and install Draco in her place.

T.R."

 

Draco was still kneeling, his arms wrapped around himself unhappily, when Tom returned with the letter, warding the door behind him with a speed borne of practice. 

“Almost finished, Draco” he informed him distractedly..looking down the expanse of the older boy’s back that seemed perversely enhanced by the addition of the tiny, delicate, waves of script over the curves of his lean muscles. Absently Tom walked to the balcony and retrieved Draco’s wand from its hiding place within the lintel, pacing back to stand behind him and rehearse the spell the letter had described.   
It was quite straightforward. A practice run was not possible in light of the fact that the spell was intended to transcribe only to skin, however he was confident that it would not prove troublesome.

“Stand” he instructed, considering where to place the message. It was not so very long but he wished it to be as attractively displayed as the missive from L.V.

Draco bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to clutch himself more tightly, before he dropped his arms and pulled himself to his feet.   
He did not turn – did not so much as move.   
Tom smiled, standing behind him and only eye level with his shoulders. Stepping closer, he reached around the much larger boy’s body, to the fly of his school uniform trousers.   
Draco barely flinched when he was unbuttoned. After sliding his zip down carefully and grazing his fingertips over the heavy, albeit as yet flaccid, organ beneath, Tom slid his hands to Draco’s waist and dragged both trousers and boxers together down his thighs to pool softly around his ankles.

Beautiful..

Biting his lip, Tom pulled his eyes back up from where they had wandered down the length of the blonde’s body.   
“Lie on the bed” he said, the command only the tiniest bit husky. His trousers felt somewhat more constrictive than they had done a few minutes prior.  
After a moment of hesitation, Draco moved forward and climbed onto the bed, lowering himself down to lie on his stomach.  
“No. Lie on your back.” Tom corrected. “This will look most effective over your abdomen.”

The blond began to cower again. Tom watched as he steeled himself and then pushed up onto his hands and knees, turning himself to sit and then, gingerly, lowered himself down onto his back with a wince. Apparently the marks were still sore.   
Draco’s face was fixed in a resolute mask as he tried to contain his fear and pain. It was nevertheless quite evident in the tension of his limbs, the tightness of his jaw.  
Enchanted by the mute submission, Tom climbed onto the bed and crawled closer, till he sat, clothed, over the other boy’s naked thighs. They were warm and firm beneath him and he looked forward to getting this part over with and obliviating Draco so that he could move on to enjoying the rest of his time with him. His eyes drifted over the lovely form displayed, wandering down, with a small thrill, to the heavy organ lying against Draco’s pale thigh.

“P-please..” the blonde stuttered softly, hopeless despair in his voice. “please..”   
He didn’t clarify his plea, although Tom assumed that he wanted to say – please don’t do this. Tilting his head, he looked down at him with furrowed brows.   
“There is no other way, Draco. This is as much for your protection as it is mine. Perhaps.. if you had not forced your suit with me, a less painful spell might have been located. Prepare yourself now.”

He was jolted slightly as the older boy took his words to heart and tensed his abdominal muscles in preparation for excruciating agony. 

Tom took a moment to admire the effect, tracing fingertips over the warm muscles, before he reached again for the parchment and quickly cast the spell.

Draco screamed like a thing possessed, his head thrown back and eyes clenched while his hands fisted and struggled. Clearly he wanted to grip his abdomen, where tiny words were being written, raising themselves in angry red burnt flesh. Tom doubted that it would spoil the effect but it was probably better not to take the chance. He leaned forward and put his weight on Draco’s forearms, pressing them down against the bed as the muscles within them vibrated like plucked strings. 

The spell completed itself, leaving its human canvas again a sobbing wreck. There was something in the youngest Malfoy’s gaspy weeping that sounded so self pitying. It succeeded in driving away any concern Tom might have felt for him.   
The letter did look quite pretty stretched over Draco’s taut abdomen though. Curiously, Tom leaned down and licked over the burnt lines. Draco wailed and jolted in reaction.   
The taste was merely the salt of skin, although the surface did feel very hot. 

Leaning back, Tom admired his handiwork for the last time, before sighing and reaching for Draco’s left arm.   
it was eagerly.. almost impatiently offered. The pain probably diminished when the words were hidden beneath the skin, he surmised. 

::absorb:: he hissed softly, watching as the angry red markings sank gently, leaving Draco’s skin once again pale and unblemished.   
The boy beneath him, after a few seconds seemed to try to compose himself again, sniffing and wiping at his eyes with the arm not being held by Tom. 

Reluctantly, Tom climbed off him and instructed him to stand again, confirming that the marks upon Draco’s back had also vanished once more. The reverse divesto had him dressed in seconds and then he was directed to kneel in the place he had been kneeling after Snape had first left.   
Draco did not plead as he had before the transfer spell. He merely gazed back at Tom with hollow haunted eyes. There was an aura of hopeless resignation about him.  
Tom’s murmured obliviate knocked the light out of his eyes a moment later, leaving him staring emptily ahead. 

“Crawl to me” 

The words jolted the blonde back into awareness. It was fascinating to watch Draco become, in the space of half a second, as terrified as he had been before the pain of the messages. He blinked, as his mind reconnected with its earlier state and then he crawled quickly to Tom’s feet, resting back on his heels and looking up at him anxiously.

“Undress, Draco” Tom commanded softly. The blonde complied at once and after shedding his uniform swiftly, with downcast face, resumed his devotional pose, waiting for instruction.   
“My trousers.” Tom prompted.   
This command seemed to offer the blonde some kind of inexplicable relief, as if he had been expecting to suffer punishment now. He reached at once, to unbutton Tom’s trousers, drawing them off him gently and waiting again.   
The way that Draco wet his lips as he looked up at him was perhaps not solely for the purpose of moistening them. Tom couldn’t help reacting to the transparent seductive gesture even so. He felt the tight tension in his groin increase and knew, without glancing down, that his cock was moving swiftly toward rock hard. 

“Do you want-“ Draco started softly, eagerly.

“No.” Tom interrupted hastily. “No.. I want to view your memory first. Show me your punishment. I want to see everything. If you leave anything out, he’ll know, even if you manage to hide it from me – and I imagine you will not enjoy his reproof.”

Draco cringed back as if kicked.   
“yes” he moaned unhappily. “yes. My mind is yours. I won’t occlude again.”

Tom smiled, pleased, and reached out to stroke the silky blonde hair gently, fascinated by the older boy’s slight flinch.   
“Good. Show me then.”

Draco tilted his head back and turned his despairing silvery eyes up till they met Tom’s own blue ones steadily. 

“Legilimens” Tom incanted softly.

 

....the sensation of penetration was quite different this time. Whereas, while Draco had been occluding, Tom had experienced a lot of sensory fuzz and distraction, his now unvarnished mind felt crisp and sharp. 

Almost at once there was the hurtling sensation of a world thundering down around him and he found himself immersed in the memory.

It was a vast dim room. It felt almost cavelike, if not for the ornate interlocking pattern of an antique polished wooden floor. The chamber was of truly massive proportions and the light emanating from the torches on the walls did not illuminate the ceiling far above or the distant end of the room. They threw into relief only the events at the near end of the hall. 

Nine figures were standing in a half circle, cloaked and hooded in black, faces obscured behind identical, cruelly formed, silver masks. It was an ominous sight.

In the centre of the half circle, Draco was, in the memory- as in real life, upon his knees. He was wearing his school uniform and looked like he might be ill at any moment from fear. 

Before him stood the gestalt that Tom had only viewed once before in Draco’s memories: Lord Voldemort. He was an unnaturally tall figure, dressed in rather more lavish black robes than the nine others in the hall, with snow white skin, bright crimson eyes and inhumanly serpentine facial features. The strange flatness of his face repulsed Tom anew – he had nothing more than two narrow slits over a slight bump where his nose should have been. Bald.. no, entirely hairless, his thin lips were smiling in a manner that promised nothing good. 

“The new Polyjuice, Severus” Lord Voldemort commanded in a strange high breathy voice. “It is an unfortunate waste of potion, however I have no patience for healing this wretched little worm and he deserves no restraint tonight.”

One of the cloaked and masked figures stepped out of the circle and retrieved a small corked bottle from its pocket, stalking toward the boy upon his knees. With an impatient movement he tore a hair from the youth’s head and, opening the flask with his thumb, fed the long blonde hair into it with practiced ease. Draco looked up at him with wild eyes.   
Tom recognised again that pleading expression he had used on Snape when the man had announced that he would be leaving Draco with Tom.   
Here too, it had no effect. The masked Death Eater simply proffered the bottle impatiently.  
After a long moment, Draco accepted it delicately and, with a grimace of disgust, brought it to his mouth, tossing it back. 

Although he fell down upon his knees groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, when he pulled himself back upright, there was no change at all in his appearance. 

Lord Voldemort smirked down at Draco and drew closer, till he loomed over him, making him seem somehow very small.   
The juxtaposition only highlighted for Tom exactly how much larger than his own fourteen year old body his other self would be. And whereas Draco was merely physically stronger than he himself, Lord Voldemort – the other expression of Tom’s own potential – would have a broader lexicon of spells at his disposal and would be at least as magically potent, if not more powerful than Tom too

“Do not imagine that this is to be your only punishment, Draco. No.. I believe I find myself prepared to dedicate considerable time to educating you on the magnitude of my displeasure with you. And after you have been punished.. you will be trained.”  
The dark leer on the alien face was disturbing to say the least. Tom swallowed, trying to adjust his perception to view the monstrous creature as the reasonable like-minded wizard who had penned the letter to him.   
It was quite difficult.

The cursing began as soon as Lord Voldemort hissed “Begin” and stepped away from the kneeling student, striding a short distance before turning to watch the youth buffeted and tossed like a rag doll by spells from every side.   
It was obvious that Draco was trying to endure the attacks silently, but it did not take long at all until the blows and cuts wrung yelps and then pained cries and screams from him.   
He shrieked and arched to an impossible angle as the cruciatus was thrown at him; screams becoming wild and mindless as he twisted and clawed at himself. 

Tom was barely aware of himself moving closer, fascinated by the expression on the writhing boy’s face. 

The spell was released, leaving Draco sobbing and gasping in pain. He was given only seconds however before the attack resumed viciously, a purple jet of light searing a thick burn through his uniform shirt and across his chest, another yellow line slicing his cheek and forearm open.   
He received no respite. Organ twisting and wrenching curses, freezing hexes, asphyxiation curses, it seemed that the figures cast even more frenziedly as the time dripped away.   
Tom watched in wonder. Although he knew many if not most of the spells used, he had not had the opportunity to see most of them used on another person. The discipline he had exercised over his little group of ‘knights’ had been fairly psychological in nature up until his interment within the diary. He had used their weaknesses.. their fears and ambitions, to manipulate them into supplying what he needed or behaving as he preferred. It had been simple enough. Perhaps once or twice, when he had been severely displeased, he had employed minor, fairly harmless, hexes to frighten; Hexes that were more damaging to the ego than the body but got the message across. Those incidents had been increasing in frequency..but this.. this was an entirely different order of magnitude.   
What was happening to Draco constituted serious damage! The mess that was left of him in the meantime would be more likely transported to St Mungo’s than the infirmary. 

“Enough.”

Every Death Eater froze mid attack at the sound of Lord Voldemort’s quiet command. They retreated back to their orderly attentive posture, although Tom had the impression that two in particular had been chomping at the bit to release the curses they had had ready.

Draco was a bloodied pile of wretchedness on the floor, prone and limp in a puddle of his own assorted fluids. 

Silence reigned for almost two minutes and then the broken figure twitched and gurgled a pitiful whimper. Draco wailed then, shaking and clenching as the polyjuice began to wear off. Tom watched, astounded, as, in the most miraculous manner, the injuries receded and vanished until Draco Malfoy lay, exhausted but unharmed, filthy and sobbing in his own blood and piss.

“Again, Severus.” Voldemort prompted with cruel satisfaction. 

Draco seemed to find his senses at that, pushing himself up onto his knees and crawling desperately toward the serpentine figure.   
“No.. Please.. Please my Lord. Not again! Please.. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I won’t ever.. ever.. do it again.. please.. I promise!”

It seemed the Dark Lord was amused by the outburst from the revoltingly soiled boy. He tilted his head, looking at Draco with satisfaction.   
“A blood replenishing potion too, if you would, Severus.” He barely gestured with a finger and scourgified the waste from the youth’s hair and body. A further twitch of his fingertips melted Draco’s nearly shredded uniform like smoke.   
Draco, wimmering disconsolately, yelped at his sudden nakedness and curled down over his knees protectively. Tom caught his soft desperate whimper and found himself frustrated by the desire to hear Draco make that sound while splayed beneath him. He so badly wanted to press his cowering form down into the mattress and drive his cock deep into him.

It seemed that Lord Voldemort was not similarly affected, as he did not halt Snape’s preparation of the polyjuice.   
Draco, for his part, tried hard to pull himself together, blinking away tears and snivelling as he took both of the potions offered. Blood replenishing potion and then polyjuice. 

The next round was even more brutal. It almost seemed as if the Death Eaters were competing with one another, each curse trumped the one preceding it. Draco’s fingers on his left hand were severed by one curse, his ankle broken by the next. A sickly green and orange spell had him coughing blood and the next blue flash had him pissing boiling tar. At one point Draco began to rip at his own eyes with his fingernails, trying to tear them out, before another curse, that Tom thought might have been cast by Snape, threw him back in a fit, causing him to foam at the mouth.   
It was engaging to watch, Tom decided. He had learned a truly vast number of curses and spells during the time in which he was trapped in the diary, and he suddenly realised that he would be quite eager to try them all out, one after another, at the earliest possible convenience. 

The time seemed to pass quickly and when the word was given to stop, Draco was unrecognisable, seeming more a pile of body parts than a wounded seventeen year old boy. He lay limp and unresponsive. He had not so much as flinched in over a minute of hexes.   
The polyjuice wearing off resulted in the same astounding transformation as in the first round, the difference being, that during the course of this one, Draco did not whimper or move. He remained deathly still and silent as he became once again a beautiful bloodsoaked youth. His eyes were closed and face slack. 

Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes, striding closer.   
“Enervate” he hissed impatiently. When the prone form did not react he drew his wand and pointed it at Draco. Whatever he cast, was incanted silently and could not be identified by the understated flick of his wand, but Draco at once gave an almighty gasp and shuddered all over. His eyelids flickered a second later and then he opened his eyes. The silvery grey stood out starkly against the crimson in which the rest of his face seemed to have been dipped. 

“Severus. Attend to his condition.”   
It was snapped angrily. The death eater that was Snape almost flew to Draco’s side, casting diagnostic spells and hurriedly drawing several small phials out of its pockets. Draco swallowed them all docilely without so much as a sound before his grey eyes drifted away from Snape and back to Lord Voldemort.  
There was something like empty acceptance in them. It was quite odd, Tom thought. Odd but strangely lovely. 

“Do you not wish to beg for mercy again, Draco” Lord Voldemort asked softly, in his high breathy voice. “your pleas are quite fetching...”   
Tom waited avidly.

“No, my Lord.” Draco whispered. “There’s nothing I can do. If you want me to suffer.. there’s.. there’s nothing I can do...” his voice cracked slightly as he trailed off.

“Yes..” Lord Voldemort confirmed with quiet approval. “You will endure pain if it pleases me to give it to you. You have been sufficiently punished when I deem it to be so.”  
The crimson eyes glanced up at the array of death eaters waiting at ease.  
“Take your pleasure with him. Sate yourselves upon his body...” The snakelike gestalt smiled cruelly. “Every male will participate. Severus.. more polyjuice.” 

Tom watched as Draco seemed to pale as if suddenly drained of all blood. He turned his face toward the wooden floor, nearly hyperventilating, and clenched his eyes tightly as if it would shut out reality.   
The reaction among the black cloaked figures was also one of shock, as most glanced overtly or surreptitiously at one Death Eater in particular. 

For the first time Tom noticed the silky white hair that was visible within the cloak, beneath the silver mask.   
It was only natural that the elder Malfoy would be here.   
He drew closer, trying to make out the features of Draco’s father.. Abraxas’ son. Lucius. The mask hid all but his slate grey eyes. 

When he turned, Snape was crouching, offering another phial to Draco. The youth was shaking his head desperately, his arms wrapped around himself.

When Lord Voldemort stalked angrily toward him, Draco retreated in wild terror, throwing himself onto his back, elbows and heels scraping the ground in ineffectual panic, as he tried to drag himself away.   
“You dare to defy your Lord?” the inhuman gestalt hissed incensed. “Your punishment has been merciful, boy!.. Out of respect for the loyal service of your father and his father before him – I am sparing your life and graciously permitting you to accept punishment. I am seldom so charitable. Do not persuade me to reconsider sparing you! In my present disposition, it would be most satisfying to bring your worthless little life to an excruciatingly painful end tonight.”

Draco, naked, splayed and shaking, wore the wide eyed, uncomprehending expression of one who is sailing toward madness. His head turned to locate the cloaked form of his father, but the complete absence of any reaction from that quarter led him to turn away, his gaze darting here and there in hysterical panic, avoiding the faces of all those surrounding him. Blindly he accepted the phial proferred by the crouching Snape, and took the potion with a grimace, shivering through its effects. 

“A wise decision. Now. On your knees, boy” Lord Voldemort hissed coldly 

His face somehow frighteningly blank and wide eyed, the seventeen year old struggled to comply. Tom could see his entire body vibrating in dread.

An unknown figure from the ranks stepped forward, his initiative only slightly quicker than two others. He moved swiftly to place himself behind Draco, fumbling hurriedly at his robes to free his cock.   
Tom’s eyes widened at the size of his organ. It was a weapon. Draco, facing forward with empty eyes, did not see what was coming, fortunately or unfortunately.   
The Death Eater, stroking himself slowly with one hand, reached for Draco with the other, running his thumb over the tiny dry pucker of the boy’s hole. 

“My Lord?” he gravelled, seeking instruction.

The tall alien form deliberated, his crimson eyes narrowing.

No. No preparation. Tear him open. I wish to see blood stream down his thighs

Draco closed his eyes, shaking harder. 

The man kneeling behind him nodded once and then dropped his head, moving his mask only long enough to spit on Draco’s arse and then once more into his hand. He rubbed his length brusquely even as the thumb of his other hand spread the spit over Draco’s small pink rosette, forcing itself inside once, twice, before retreating.   
His hand on the young boy’s hip, holding him in place, the Death Eater positioned himself and, without ceremony, viciously drove into the unprepared youth.   
Draco made a sound somewhere between a choked scream and a sob, and fell to panicked, messy weeping interspersed with pained cries as the massive baton in his arse was forced in a series of brutal thrusts deeper and deeper, until the man was fully seated.   
The first withdrawl and deep, slamming, thrust pulled a full throated scream from the young wizard and then the death eater took to a cruel rhythm, both hands on Draco’s hips, holding him in place to pound into him without care.

Tom was not at all sure that he did like the ‘show’ that his other self had put on for him. He found himself frustrated that others were taking Draco when he himself had not had the opportunity to do so.   
He watched as the man roughly fucking Draco quickly reached his completion, thrusting deep to spill himself within him. Draco, a grimace on his tearstreaked, pained face, remained still as a statue.   
Kneeling close beside him, Tom observed as Draco blinked miserably and another slow tear slid down his cheek.   
It was breathtaking.   
The light caught it just right and transformed the suffering boy into an adonis.. a burning effigy of himself. Tom glanced up at the pale Dark Lord, feeling a strange gratitude to him. He realised that Lord Voldemort was as transfixed by Draco’s agony as he himself. The creature’s face was hard and merciless..but something in the way his red eyes lingered, glinting, told Tom that he was affected.

Almost sedately, the death eater kneeling behind Draco withdrew and was replaced at once by another, one of the other two who had been most eager initially.   
While the man moved to kneel, Tom shifted on his knees, shuffling toward Draco’s rear to take in the damage.   
It was much worse than he had expected.   
Both of Draco’s thighs were indeed streaked with long trails of blood that was dribbling down to pool beneath his knees. But his anus.. he looked as if he had been fucked with a blade rather than a cock. It was a mess. Deep red pooled and drizzled from it, with little bubbles and strings of white intermingled, and the way it twitched ineffectually, it seemed as if it no longer closed properly.   
The new Death Eater wasted no time in freeing his cock and burying himself to the hilt in the bloody maw. 

Tom wasn’t sure what to think. It felt as if an internal argument had ignited within him. There was a part.. a large part of him that was fascinated..entertained.. utterly absorbed by the brutality   
The raw violence and abuse.. it was..amazing. He’d never seen anything like it.   
The closest thing he knew to this exultant hungry dark feeling were the little things he’d done to some of the other children in the orphanage, such as killing Billy’s rabbit and hanging it on the beam in the hall for him to find ...or the day that Dennis and Amy had followed him into the cave by the seaside and he’d found he could make them obey his commands.   
That day he’d been thrilled by it when he’d understood that they couldn’t help doing what he wanted. Though at first it had started with simple disgusting things – making Dennis eat a dead jellyfish, making Amy swallow sand by the handful - he’d warmed to the feeling of power and grown more creative. He’d made them hold their heads underwater in the shallow pool near the back of the cave until they were close to drowning. He’d done it again and again, enjoying their panic. Then he’d had Amy bend her own finger back until it broke.   
The way her finger had looked, so wrong, pointing upward at an impossible angle.. had made him feel something that was faintly like what he was feeling now, watching this. A hot, sickening excitement. A hunger.

There was another part of him..(a part that he thought might just be the indoctrination of society.. and specifically – of Dumbledore and others like him.) that protested that what was happening was wrong... That he did not want this. But it was an uncertain little voice, compared to the growing hungry curiosity.  
It made him feel hot and shivery and strange to watch the panting, cloaked and masked man pumping and slapping wetly into Draco’s ravaged arse, while the blonde’s arms shook so much that he struggled to stay upright. Draco’s skin was covered in a sheen of perspiration and he had bitten his lip so hard that it was bleeding.   
Tom knew that he would never have even considered doing something like this to the boy. He had only wanted to touch him.. have him.. He wouldn’t have tortured him.   
Consequently, if it hadn’t been for Lord Voldemort - he would never have seen Draco so fragile, damaged and lovely as he looked now. 

After a while, with the Death eater grunting and slamming into the kneeling boy, his hands gripping and clenching at him in animalistic fervour, as if greedy to take more of him somehow, another sidled forward.   
He moved to Draco’s head, fingers stroking the damp white silky hair, before he lowered himself gracefully to his knees before him, and took out his dripping member.   
Draco, whining softly in misery, was nevertheless as pliable as a doll as the man wound long slender fingers in his hair and urged him down to suck. The boy fell to his task with neither enthusiasm nor overt resistance until the death eater gripped him more tightly by the hair and dragged him up and down his length, forcing him deeper, unheeding of his choking. Then he struggled ineffectually for air.

At some point while Tom watched the rape of Draco’s mouth, the wizard fucking his arse finished and retreated, to be replaced by another. It proceeded much the same as before, at least until Draco suddenly wailed around the thick cock in his mouth.   
\- The wizard riding him had reached beneath them both for the boy’s own flaccid cock, stroking and massaging it to a weak arousal. Draco was reacting with renewed resistance to the forced pleasure and tried to reach back to pull the hand gripping him away. His wrist was caught and pulled onto his back to be held by the man’s other hand, before he returned to stroking Draco as he fucked him.   
The sight seemed to viscerally affect the one taking Draco’s mouth and the youth struggled even more violently, suffocating and coughing as his airways were unexpectedly filled with thick viscous semen. 

He was manhandled back into servicing position by a different wizard at his head and given a brisk slap to bring him to focus, before his mouth was roughly plugged with a new cock. 

The wizard behind him, finding Draco’s cock remained only half hard, no matter how he plied it, gave up on his efforts and turned his attention back to fucking the boy for all he was worth.

 

While Tom watched, Draco’s arse was taken by two more wizards and his mouth by three, the last of them the Death Eater with the massive tool, who had first broken Draco in. His cock was still streaked with drying blood and darker matter. Draco did try to refuse him, but, after a few slaps and a couple of heavier blows with the man’s closed fist, the broken youth relented, submitting and almost vomiting as he was choked by the foul organ.

The elder Malfoy had been lingering back, standing inscrutable and still while Draco was brutalised. Now though, with time running short and all others having taken their turn, he stepped forward with seeming reluctance as the wizard in Draco’s arse finished and fell back. 

What was revealed was obscene. Draco’s arse resembled a gaping bloody tunnel, drooling pink fluids down over his balls and onto the ground beneath him. 

Tom, kneeling beside Draco, watched as the boy’s father scourgified away the rests covering and surrounding him and then, drawing nearer, lowered himself gracefully to his knees and placed the tip of his black, snake handled wand at his son’s ruined passage, scourgifying him within also.   
With a practiced wand movement the death eater dissolved the silver mask upon his face, revealing to Tom the face that he had been so curious to view.   
Lucius Malfoy, his good friend Abraxas Malfoy’s son, was a silkily attractive wizard in his prime, his features refined, every expression and gesture elegant, yet the bright unnatural fervour in the slate grey eyes as he looked down upon his son rendered the aristocrat’s features base, debauched and twisted.

That Draco realised who exactly was behind him now was discernable in his tightly clenched eyes and the sudden droop of his shoulders. 

Lucius murmured a soft lubrication spell before reaching beneath his robes and freeing himself.   
Tom’s upper lip curled slightly when the parted robe revealed that the man was hard and more than ready to sodomise his son. 

Disturbingly, the older wizard seemed to take his time, running his fingers lightly over Draco’s shaking thighs and up the line of his back. Draco shivered and whimpered around the cock in his mouth.   
His father rose up then on his knees and, positioning himself, thrust in.   
The soft exalted groan of pleasure he expressed was unmistakeable. He moved slowly, rotating his hips and pressing deeply, his breath heavy with excitement.   
After the wizard fucking Draco’s mouth had finished, and no other moved to take his place, the boy dropped, sobbing, his head buried in his arms as if he wanted to hide, while his father leaned even closer, moving in him faster now.   
Gripping his son in what resembled a lover’s caresses more than a rapists’ restraints, Lucius’ moaned and bent over his back. Gently but implacably he reached for Draco’s shoulders, dragging him back up onto his hands and curling his own body around the smaller one below, one arm around the seventeen year old’s collarbone, holding him in place, as his black cloaked arse circumscribed small rotations and short delving thrusts.   
Draco wimmered in horror. His lips forming the word ‘no’ over and over again soundlessly. 

“Draco..” Lucius breathed against his son’s neck, making him flinch away. Lucius ignored it and bowed his head, kissing Draco’s nape and then languidly licking the sweat from his shoulder.   
Draco whimpered pitifully and ducked his head, trying, and failing, to evade his father’s perversely seductive attentions. 

Lucius’ hand, that had been lingering on the youth’s hip, now wandered lower, stealing over Draco’s abdomen toward his cock, which was limp, Tom noted.   
Realising the goal of the hand, Draco started to yelp in blind panic, struggling frantically to escape. His father’s hold on him was iron however and soon Lucius had the object of his foray gripped in his well manicured fingers and was stroking in slow deliberate movements.

“Stop” Draco wailed hysterically. “Please.. father!! My Lord.. oh please.. someone!! Someone.. stop it.. I can’t..”

“Hush” Lucius panted behind him. “Don’t fight the pleasure.. You are so beautiful.. My Draco..”

Draco did not seem to be listening, in his panic, but the effect of his fathers’ skilful ministrations was inescapable even so. Tom watched as Lucius, eyes closed in euphoria, increased his efforts, fucking Draco harder while his hand stroked him faster. Draco’s cock was soon weeping and his hips winding helplessly as he sobbed.  
“Please!!..” he whimpered again desperately in a choked breathless voice. “Yesss” Lucius groaned against his back. “Come, Draco. Come for me.”  
And, as if on command, he did, crying out in miserable, unwilling pleasure as he covered his father’s hand in hot slithery jets of white liquid.   
Lucius reacted with a groan of raw lust, bowing his face against Draco’s back and thrusting into him erratically before gasping out his own release, clamping Draco to him possessively in the afterspasms. 

It seemed to take a long time before Lucius finally uncurled his arms from his son’s abused body and drew back reluctantly.   
Draco, as soon as he was released, folded himself down into a huddled ball, weeping and shaking.

“Draco..” his father murmured guiltily, still lingering behind him.   
Tom narrowed his eyes at the man in disgust.

“That will be enough, Lucius” Lord Voldemort interrupted coldly. “Leave him now.” 

Lucius hesitated, his eyes tracing over Draco’s spine longingly.   
“Of course, my Lord” he murmured quietly, replacing his cock in his robes and gliding smoothly to his feet, returning once more to the half circle of death eaters. 

The Dark Lord’s crimson gaze hovered over the ruined weeping boy as if he were an exquisite work of art to be admired.   
“Your assistance is no longer required, my servants.” He hissed softly without gracing them with any more than the bare minimum of his attention. “-You may leave us.” 

There was barely a moment’s pause before the cracks of disapparition rang out in the dark hall.   
Snape seemed to be one of the last to leave. He lingered uncertainly for only a few seconds before disapparating with the others. 

Lucius remained standing. 

“My Lord..” he began in an entreating tone. “Might Draco not-“

“No. He may not.” Voldemort cut him off sharply. “Leave, Lucius – or I shall obliviate you of the memory.”

The blonde wizard hesitated only a moment before departing with a soft crack.

The cavernous hall seemed suddenly even larger in the silence. 

“Get up.” The pale serpentine wizard commanded, not entirely unkindly. “I am satisfied for the moment. You have been punished sufficiently. Stand. I wish to apparate us elsewhere.”

Draco, still snivelling softly moved to drag himself up. His arms were weak with tremors and he crumpled again on his first try, emitting a gaspy whimper. The sudden rippling of the polyjuice wearing off stopped him from trying again. When the effect had ceased, Draco, once again whole and exhausted almost to the point of collapse, successfully pushed himself shakily to his knees and then, with slow, painful effort, to his feet.   
It seemed that his nakedness was no longer of any significant consequence to him. His bowed head and dull eyes fixed on the ground gave him the appearance of a broken puppet.. a beaten animal.  
He stumbled in the direction of Lord Voldemort and was caught in mid fall by the imposing wizard and drawn effortlessly against him. One arm wrapped around Draco’s lower back and then the memory shifted strangely to a new location.   
It wasn’t like the sensation of apparition.. more like being twisted and thrown forcefully into a new surrounding.

 

The richly appointed, if somewhat dark and austere bedchamber appealed to Tom at once. It was undoubtedly Lord Voldemort’s. The large bed within it faintly resembled that within the head boy’s room. Its carvings were somewhat more ominous though – there was the vague impression of a multitude of tiny carved figures, both human and beast, entwined in pleasure or torment, but it was too dark to make out the detail.   
A black marble fireplace burned with a high dark-red flame and before it was placed only one dark green armchair. This room was not intended to entertain guests, Tom supposed. It was functional. A retreat.   
There was a desk, only a few bookshelves, no windows. The wall hangings – magical tapestries – depicted, variously, battle scenes, intertwining mythical creatures and maps. 

Lord Voldemort, having appeared in the room quite close to the bed, dragged the weak boy in his embrace the two steps to its edge and tossed him down upon it to land on his back, legs partly hanging off the side.   
The movement was not particularly gentle, however neither did it appear to hurt Draco.   
No.. his pained, terrified expression was due to the realisation of where he presently found himself.   
He started to struggle to sit up, but the pale, long fingered hand that quickly pressed down upon his bare chest halted the panicked movement.   
Lord Voldemort leaned down over him, his red eyes flicking over Draco’s body suggestively.

“Do not struggle, Draco. As I informed you before your punishment began – It would be made clear to you how considerably your behaviour displeased me.. and then you would be trained in how you are to comport yourself ..when you come to my bed.”

This information, Tom could see, had confirmed Draco’s fears. Curiously, instead of struggling further, he seemed to become absolutely limp all of a sudden while his face crumpled into desperate horror.   
He looked utterly broken.

The snakelike face smiled darkly. “Much better, boy. I would have you obedient, first and foremost. As you would serve me, that is how I wish you to serve my horcrux.”   
The smile faded disturbingly as the pale flat alien face grew cold and hard – almost seeming bitter.   
“You were granted an honour, Draco. He allowed you to be the first to know his body.. and you defiled him! I cannot ..begin.. to express how that vexes me. He deserved more than a quick, sneering, hand job and attempted rape by an arrogant, ignorant, inbred little whelp such as yourself.”

The blonde on the bed seemed to cringe even in the midst of his own apparent mental breakdown.   
“I..I didn’t mean..for it to happen that way” he wailed pleadingly, clenching his eyes closed. “I..I didn’t know it was his first time.. and then I..I.. just wanted him so badly.. I’m sorry!!! I’m so sorry!! I forgot w-who he was!.. He was just..just.. pretty..and different than I expected. Gentle and.. so.. so ..excited.. The way he responded.. I..I just knew he’d love it..he’d scream in p-pleasure... I thought.. if I could just “ 

“Silence!”  
It was an icy hiss.   
“Your thoughts were not of him. You wished to dominate him.. to take him by force and render him weak in order to satisfy your own traitorous resentment of your service to me.   
Do not lie to me, Draco. I can see everything you hide in that dry ache you call a heart.   
Pitiful wretch! You might, had you behaved as a Slytherin, have won his affection.. you might even have succeeded in becoming his lover..and in so doing, have gained much favour in my eyes.   
Now... you will be a whore.. Nothing more than a serviceable hole – a receptacle for the seed of any wizard that I see fit to send you to.   
Lucius, I am quite certain, will be among the first to request your services and it will please me to send you to him often. He will fuck you so frequently.. and so capably...that I have every expectation you will come to believe yourself equally enamoured of him soon enough. I will enjoy knowing that you have been utterly despoiled..that you are craving your own father’s body within you, begging him upon your knees for his essence. It will, in the end, be the only truly fitting punishment for ruining my ..innocent.. horcrux.

Draco was sobbing again desperately. Whispering soft mindless pleas. He collected a ringing slap that tossed his face to the right on the bed. The sobs took on a hysterical hiccoughy sound. 

Lord Voldemort withdrew a few steps and began to disrobe. 

Tom was not sure he wanted to watch this. If his other self’s face was so disturbing, what might the rest of his body look like?!

The answer, when it was shortly revealed, was a relief. Aside from the snow white colour and absence of hair, Lord Voldemort’s body seemed quite normal.   
He had a pleasingly trained and well proportioned physique. His genitalia did not evidence an extra forked tongue, scales or webbing.   
It did seem to be several times larger than Tom’s own equipment, however.   
He reasoned that his own body was still technically only fourteen and would continue to develop. Should it develop to the dimensions of the organ wielded by the creature his other self had become, Tom felt he would be quite content.   
Although.. there was perhaps reason to expect that Lord Voldemort’s body might differ slightly from the one he had occupied when he had still been Tom Riddle – his face probably wouldn’t have been the only part of him to have been altered in the creation of this strange white form. Perhaps Tom himself might never attain such an impressive size.

“Wipe your face! I do not wish to see aversion. You will show desire, Draco! To be permitted to be this close to my person is a privilege rarely offered.” the Dark Lord growled softly. “It would be in your interests to seek to redeem yourself with me. Perhaps.. if you are sufficiently persuasive.. I may be swayed to alter my plans regarding your fate.”  
The pale wizard had been gliding closer and now placed one knee upon the bed, mere centimetres to the left of Draco’s thigh The blonde lay looking up at him with wide, petrified, tearful eyes.

Slowly, almost as if he were seeking to still a flighty animal, Lord Voldemort leaned closer, placing his hands upon the bed to either side of Draco’s shoulders. The tiny panicked whimper that the boy couldn’t quite smother made the much larger wizard pause for a moment before continuing to lower himself over him.   
Draco squirmed in panic , his head turning first one way, then the next, as if looking for escape. 

Tom, kneeling on the bed next to Draco’s shoulder, could see what was going to happen before Draco himself realised it.   
Voldemort, still half standing, was subtly positioned between Draco’s rather haphazardly splayed legs and, in lowering himself, his pale muscular thigh was moving closer to the seventeen year old’s groin.   
When skin brushed Draco’s limp cock unexpectedly, he squeaked, almost jumping out of his skin, and in a sudden flurry of hysterical motion, propelled himself upward and backward across the width of the bed, scrambling to get away.  
A white, long fingered hand caught his calf effortlessly and tugged, spilling him, off balance, onto his back again.   
The larger wizard was atop him, straddling and holding him down, before Draco could even get purchase on the bed to sit up again.

“You are yet again disappointing, Draco.” Voldemort hissed with narrowed eyes. “Have you no sense of self-preservation?!”

Apparently Draco did not, Tom observed when the terrified boy squeaked out “you’re so cold!”

Voldemort snarled momentarily, appearing frustrated, before the expression was controlled once again. He shifted slightly in his straddle over the younger wizard, sliding further up Draco’s thighs, skin against skin. 

“My temperature is cooler than the average witch or wizard” The Dark Lord conceded impatiently. “-It is however not possible to apply a warming charm. You will adapt.” 

Draco, trapped beneath him, goggled, wide lunatic eyes rolling in panic. He opened his mouth but seemed beyond making coherent verbal response. All that came out was a faint gurgle. 

Tom frowned slightly. Yes, Draco was overwrought and traumatised at present, but he was behaving insultingly. How dare he respond with ...  
...For a moment the memory of Harry’s earlier comment returned to him. The older boy had made him feel that he was unappealing.. no. more than that.. that Tom’s touch disgusted him.   
Draco’s hysterical reaction to Lord Voldemort right now was making him experience that sense of inadequacy again.   
His other self apparently faced the same problem that he did – an unacceptable physical form.   
Unlike Lord Voldemort, however, Tom knew that he would age.. whether naturally or artificially, and could remedy the difficulty if he were to leave Dumbledore’s little containment area.   
He suddenly felt something for his other self beyond wary suspicion. It wasn’t much, but it was there. The last fifty years for Tom had been maddening, terrible, indescribable – but he had not reached, with difficulty and sacrifice, what seemed to be a pinnacle of success and power only to be destroyed by something as ridiculous as an infant.. he had not been forced to live as a incorporeal parasite. He had not been forced to assume the chilly, monstrous form currently dominating Draco. 

Lord Voldemort seemed to half sigh in impatient irritation and then he moved his hand from Draco’s forearm to his forehead, pressing the tips of his long spidery fingers to the young wizard’s left temple   
Draco was nearly catatonic with fear.   
Then, from one moment to the next, the blonde changed.   
His eyes, which had been showing the whites all the way around the pale grey irises, softened and became half lidded. His pupils dilated and he swallowed, licking his lips in nervous lust. 

The Dark Lord above him relaxed slightly and half smirked. “Much better..” he murmured. “You are a lovely creature, Draco. You would have been eminently suitable for him. It is a pity that you are so foolish.”   
He narrowed his eyes for a moment, appearing to concentrate upon something and then gently slid his fingers away, trailing them down Draco’s cheek. The hunger in the silvery eyes did not falter.

“I’m sorry, my Lord” Draco responded at once in something between a whine and a purr. His unrestrained hand moved to touch the thigh of the man above him but stopped, hovering only an inch above his white skin, trembling.  
“May I touch you?” he asked anxiously, and it sounded very much as though he wanted nothing more than to do so.

“You may.” The Dark Lord answered quietly. “Show me your devoted worship, Draco.” He sat up, releasing Draco’s other arm and sitting upright, straddling the younger wizard’s upper thighs. His hard member bobbed slightly, hanging at an angle above Draco’s groin, where the blonde’s own growing arousal was evident.

Draco sighed happily and the hand that had been hovering continued on its path to touch the tight muscled thigh lightly. Draco’s other hand rose to mirror it and then both stroked slowly upward, skin barely touching skin, fingertips ghosting over the bony pelvis and slender taut abdomen, as Draco slowly lifted himself into a sitting position.   
Lord Voldemort passively allowed the exploration, crimson eyes glinting as he followed the boy’s movements.   
Draco’s nails skated over the dark wizard’s ribs, evoking a slight pleased twitch from the man, before they continued their path beneath the white arms, curving over his back upward, slowly becoming a gentle, awe-filled embrace as Draco leaned in closer and began to press small lingering kisses to the larger wizard’s chest. 

After a while, the Dark Lord moved to embrace Draco in turn, stroking him like a well behaved pet as the boy began to tongue and suckle his upper chest. Draco could reach no further and thus, with slow pressure, the larger wizard pressed Draco back down onto his back on the bed, curling over him.   
The overall impression reminded Tom incongruently of an animal feeding on prey. He could see Draco applying himself eagerly to the pale column of the Dark Lord’s throat, wearing something like excited joy upon his face, but the impression was nevertheless quite predatory on the part of the older wizard. 

He watched the ensuing pairing with mixed feelings.   
It disturbed him.  
Lord Voldemort.. his other self.. was obviously a skilled lover. Even as brutally as he had taken the seventeen year old, he had brought him to pleasure.   
He had not kissed him at any point and his gestures of affection to the younger wizard were few and far between, but he had allowed Draco to kiss and touch him. The sounds that Draco made when he was being fucked were so different to the sounds he had made in that other hall.. His squeals and groans so far from the miserable sobbing. Even the whimpers of pain were different. Draco had begged the Dark Lord for more.  
It made Tom uncomfortable.   
For a brief moment he had felt.. But no. The thought was repugnant.   
Very very briefly, he had..perhaps.. for only a second or two.. envied Draco.   
Not envied his other self for taking the boy, but envied Draco.   
For a fraction of a second he had imagined how it might feel to be panting, pressed down on his stomach against the mattress, strong hands intertwined with his own, while the inhuman wizard pounded into his body.   
The thought had hardened him as his thoughts of taking the blonde himself had not. 

When, even after releasing with a growl of satisfaction into Draco’s body, Lord Voldemort did not appear to be finished and dragged the blonde around to suck him, Tom had seen enough.   
He thought that it might possibly be more politik to watch the entirety of the memory but he simply did not want to view anymore.   
The reaction it caused in him was unpleasant and he refused to waste any further time subjecting himself to the sensation.


	14. Chapter 14

It was strangely difficult to pull away and extract himself from the other boy’s willing mind.   
When Draco had been occluding, it had taken no effort whatsoever to draw back. Now though, it felt as if he had been sinking into morass and had to fight and tread water to climb out. 

Returning after a struggle to his own awareness, he experienced a sense of disorientation and panic – finding himself naked on his knees while Draco lay, weak and panting for breath before him, grey eyes glazed upon his own. Tom’s own eyes were dry and sore and he felt very tired suddenly – his heart was beating too rapidly.

With a groan he subsided backward onto the floor, the cold stone on his back soothing. Closing his eyes he tried to calm his racing heart and re-order his thoughts. 

“Draco?” he eventually muttered wearily.   
There was no response for a long minute and then he heard a whispered “Yes, my Lord?”  
He dragged himself up to sit and looked over at the anxious blonde.   
“Get up.”   
It was said with more tired resignation than authority. 

Draco seemed to brace himself, drawing together his strength, and then pushed up off the floor to kneel.   
Clearly he was not prepared to stand when Tom was sitting.   
Tom held out a hand to him. “Help me up.”  
The quick ‘yes my Lord’ and the careful assistance were noted. Draco seemed very, very concerned that he might do something wrong.. that he might have already done something wrong. It was obvious in the trembling of his hands and the cowed stance. He started to lower himself back down to his knees when Tom had regained his own feet but a hand on his forearm stopped him.  
“No.” Tom said quickly. “No.. I.. I don’t want that right now..” He swallowed, trying to push what he had watched from his mind and reclaim the powerful feeling he had enjoyed earlier.   
Draco looked even more upset and nervous.

“I’m sorry, my Lord!! I shouldn’t have assumed. “

Tom sighed, realising that it wasn’t him that Draco was afraid of.   
“It’s not important. Go and run a bath. I need.. I need to..” he trailed off, swallowing the unpleasant taste in his mouth. How could he admit that he felt the irrational need to wash the feeling away?! The repugnant and entirely unwilling desire that had assailed him before he’d decided not to watch the rest of the memory.

It was unnecessary to explain anything, naturally. The blonde was already hurrying to the bathroom the moment it seemed like no further communication was to be forthcoming. Shortly thereafter Tom heard the sound of water falling. 

Aimlessly..very nearly mindlessly, he wandered over toward the balcony, letting himself out, uncaring whether or not it might be possible for anyone to see him here.   
The late afternoon air was cold on his naked body, but he found it pleasant. The icy breeze that stroked his skin to gooseflesh had a faintly appealing hint of smoke in it, as if somewhere someone had been burning leaves. And although the sky was covered in dark grey hanging clouds, a rim of orange gold light hung on the horizon beneath them, transforming the black lake into violet glittering silk. 

Taking a deep breath Tom let his eyes drift over the darkening world that he’d spent most of his life in.   
As miserable as he had been in the diary, he had never truly loathed Hogwarts itself.

Across the grounds a faint movement caught his attention. He made out a figure creeping in the shadows and stepped closer to the parapet to try to see more clearly.   
Someone was moving along the edge of the forbidden forest.   
They were wearing a hooded cloak and, queasily, he matched it to the masked death eaters in Draco’s memory.   
It was not a similar cloak.. it was the identical silhouette. A Death Eater was on Hogwarts grounds right now. 

He wondered if his other self had devised some means of retrieving him after all..  
The thought evoked conflicting impulses in him.

Distantly, the hood was lowered, revealing black shoulder length hair and Tom relaxed again.   
Snape - obviously no longer waiting downstairs in the heads common room. His other self must have summoned the man.  
He turned away, replacing Draco’s wand in its usual hiding place and strode inside, closing the door behind himself. 

In the bathroom he found Draco standing next to the bath, shaking, watching it fill, his eyes haunted. 

This was not what he wanted, Tom groused internally; the sight of the other boy worsening the irritated disarray he was already struggling with.   
This.. miserable fearful obedience was not what he wanted at all! He wanted a sexual partner who actually desired him. Not one that he had to force to comply, or drug or hex or deceive into lust. 

Draco, suddenly noticing his presence, gasped and threw himself to his knees.   
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! The bath.. The bath takes a long time to fill. I can’t help it!”

Tom glanced from Draco to the bath and then back, frowning slightly. “Draco..” he started uncertainly.   
The way the blonde hung on his words desperately was peculiarly off putting.  
“I don’t think that we can cohabitate here..” 

As if he’d cursed him, the blonde broke like glass shattering, throwing himself to Tom’s feet and bursting into tears.   
“PLEASE!!! PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!! I can please you.. I.. can be whatever you want me to be!!! PLEASE!!! Don’t send me away!! I’m Sorry!! I’m so sorry!! I didn’t mean to, last time. I’ll never do it again. Don’t.. don’t send me back to him like this.. He’ll..” Draco’s voice dropped away into unintelligible whimpering tears.

Tom stepped back, slightly repulsed, extricating his ankles with a light shake. The boy grovelling on his belly before him looked up with a wet face and bloodshot eyes. “please..” he whispered again in soft desperation.

The bath was full enough. He had only to glance at it with an irritated scowl and Draco was already leaping up onto his knees and turning off the water, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his arm and sniffling.   
“I.. I used...mayfeather and orchid oil.. m-my Lord..” he said plaintively and then seemed to realise something.   
“You..didn’t.. I..I should have asked before.. fuck!.. I’m sorry!!..”   
He subsided weakly, defeated and hopeless.

“It’s fine” Tom said shortly. In truth, he hadn’t the faintest care for what was in the water right now and the scent was pleasant enough. He unfastened his trousers, waving Draco off when he seemed to be about to ask if he should help him undress.   
Kicking his trousers and underwear away, uncaring; he stepped cautiously into the deep half sunken bath.   
It was very hot. His skin stung after being outside in the cold, but right now he didn’t mind that either.   
The water reached low on his thighs while he stood. After he had lowered himself into the curved concave of one end of the large bath, the water reached his chin and was just a little too deep. He vanished some of it until the level was more comfortable. 

Ignoring the way Draco still knelt despairing, he lowered himself underwater, brushing his hands up and over his hair, running his fingers through it to soak it thoroughly. 

Resurfacing, he felt just a little bit better. He rubbed the water from his face with his fingers and let himself lay back in the tub, the warmth and the pleasant scent unwinding his weariness and tension.  
After a few minutes lying with his eyes closed and feeling how easy it would be to just.. drift off, Tom sighed and sat up.

Draco perked at once from his slumped, dread-fraught position, and looked down at him from his knees with faint pleading hope.

Irritating.   
It would be entirely counterproductive to help Draco in the way he most wanted.   
What he wanted was obviously an escape from his duty to Lord Voldemort. Perhaps he was deluded and desperate enough to think that if Tom accepted him here, Lord Voldemort might allow him to lay aside all other duties and simply serve his horcrux carnally.   
Of course...if Tom did not want him - when he was sent back he would likely be punished by Lord Voldemort for failing to please – which would only increase the likelihood that he would be put here for safe keeping by Snape and Dumbledore.   
Should Draco be stuck in here under watchful eye with him, there would be no way for him to complete whatever the other task was that the Dark Lord had given him – and resultingly, no way to elude the wards via the room of requirement.

“Get in the bath” Tom instructed with a soft sigh of irritation.

Draco did not need to be told twice. He was slithering down into the hot water at once, hovering uncertainly on his knees around the middle of the large bath, the water reaching his abdomen.   
Tom beckoned him closer with a lazy gesture and was abruptly pounced on, water sloshing everywhere. He struggled angrily and Draco went immediately limp and pliable in fear.   
With slowly fading annoyance, Tom turned him and pulled the larger body around in the buoyant water till Draco lay between his legs, his back against Tom’s chest and head upon his shoulder.   
It was not entirely comfortable, in light of the size difference between them. 

Draco lay nervously still. Tom could see his grey eyes wandering uneasily. 

“You cannot stay here.” he told him quietly, his arms around the larger boy tensing when Draco flinched and tried to turn.   
“You cannot stay here because you have another task to complete, Draco” he clarified. “A task that I am relying upon you to carry out unimpeded.” 

This seemed to wilt the blonde – Draco’s face became pinched and aversive again. Tom wondered what exactly Draco had to do to make up for his error.

“Moreover, if you were to stay here with me, you would prevent me from realising many of my present goals” he told him quietly.   
Draco turned his head slightly, pleading in his eyes once more   
“I could help you..”

“No. You are of more use in the capacity that he has placed you”

Realising his phrasing too late he struggled to hold the suddenly snivelling and panicking seventh year. Draco was near hysterical again.   
“I referred to the task, Draco.” He corrected quickly “I will...see what I can do.. regarding your position among the others.. especially your father.” 

The broad shoulders shook as the boy took great gaspy breaths and tried to slow his mortified sobs.  
“I.. I can’t do it..” Draco moaned miserably. “What he.. what he’s said I have to do..the t-task.. I can’t do it... What am I going to do?! He’ll kill me.. he’ll.. he’ll.... I can’t go through..punishment.. again. I .. I can’t. Please.. don’t send me back.. Don’t.. don’t make me..” The rest of the plea was just soggy wails. 

Tom knocked his own head back against the tub lightly in irritation. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. He did not comfort others. WHY was he being obliged to put up with this?! He could have been having his way with Harry Potter if it hadn’t been for the “good intentions” of his other self.   
“Draco.. as ...different as I may appear to be to Him.. I assure you, I have comparable intolerance for this kind of ..display. Pull yourself together. I will not..coddle you. Wipe your face!”  
This again drew a flinch from the boy in his arms, but Draco reached with wet hands to splash his eyes and wipe the salty tears covering his cheeks.

“Yes, my Lord” he whispered unhappily.

An uncomfortable silence settled. They both lay in the steaming water, unmoving, for several minutes.   
Tom had just closed his eyes and started to relax again, when the silky movement of fingers gliding gently over his legs caused him to stir. Draco was running his hands down the outside of Tom’s legs that lay either side of him. It..tickled..somewhat.

“What are you doing?!” Tom demanded uncertainly. 

Draco half turned his head, looking up at him askance. “I..thought.. maybe..” he trailed off and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry about last time.. give me another chance.”

Groaning inwardly, Tom realised that he no longer had any appetite for this. As much as he might have desired the boy earlier, he wished only that he could send him away now.  
But if he didn’t take Draco then the wretch would be punished again. And then he’d be protected and Hermione would be removed and Crookshanks would be removed with her.. and that was unacceptable.

“Fine” he growled, turning his head away from the blonde.

Draco seemed to wilt again. His hands moved from Tom’s legs to curl around himself.

“What is it now?!” Tom spat in aggravation. 

“..N-nothing..” Draco said dully. “I..I’ve been warned never again to do anything you don’t want. And you don’t want me touching you...”

Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Its..”   
Draco faltered and seemed to think better of whatever he had been about to say.

“It’s what?” Tom asked automatically. Things that people changed their mind about saying tended often to be quite important.

“It’s Potter.. isn’t it..” the blonde moaned. “You aren’t interested anymore because you’ve got him now.. There’s no other reason why he’d be half undressed in here.”

Tom gritted his teeth and didn’t reply.   
The silence stretched on again.

“I don’t blame you..” Draco whispered unhappily. “after.. after seeing what-“ he swallowed again “-what happened.. what.. what I did.. what they did.. I wouldn’t want me anymore either.”

Taking a deep breath, Tom released it in a mildly annoyed sigh. “Self pity does not suit you, Draco.”   
“...If you must know – you were exquisite in the memory. Suffering only accentuated your beauty. ...But you are correct. I want Harry. I wish to explore the act for the first time with someone who is not vastly more experienced than myself. And I am certain that my innocence will be a far more effective lure to an innocent Gryffindor than my skill and experience would be.”

Draco seemed to think about this, but did not look quite as self pitying as he had before. After a while he spoke again, his voice low and suggestive. “Just because we can’t do that..one..thing..doesn’t mean I can’t please you in other ways.”

Tom glanced at him, considering the prospect with little real enthusiasm.   
“I’m.. not in a particularly good frame of mind for that right now. Certain aspects of your memory - things unrelated to your own allure -bothered me. ..and I have been awake too long. Nearing three days.   
I feel..weary and short of temper.”

The other boy looked surprised. “I.. didn’t realise. You recovered after the legilimency so quickly. I would never have thought.. is.. is there some problem? Should I retrieve a potion for you?”

“You recall the goals I mentioned that you could not assist me with? One of those has obliged me to remain awake constantly. It is not important. I will sleep when I have attained my objective.”

Draco nodded slightly, letting the idea go.   
“Is there.. nothing.. I can do for you?” he murmured disconsolately. “You can practice curses on me if you want. Anything.”

Tom closed his eyes, desperately tempted to take just a little sleep. He jolted back to alertness almost immediately and shifted, uncomfortable.

The abrupt sound of the doorknob turning from Hermione’s side of the bathroom was not enough warning for Tom, in his sleep deprived state, to throw up a wandless sticking spell. 

The mudblood witch in question walked distractedly into the bathroom, as if she owned it, heading in the direction of the shower, dressed in a fluffy black bathrobe.   
Only to stop dead in the middle of the room at finding the door to Tom’s room open.   
She was peering through the doorway uneasily, taking very small backward steps like one who doesn’t want to alert a dangerous animal to their retreat, when Draco moved one hand surreptitiously to cover his genitals. The soft splish of water dragged her eyes down unwillingly to the bathtub, taking in the sight of the naked blonde in Tom’s relaxed embrace. 

The way her eyes boggled and her jaw fell was almost comedic, Tom thought. And then she turned on her heel and ran.   
That, however, was not at all humorous.

“Get her” he snapped at Draco impatiently.   
He didn’t need to repeat himself. The water sloshed everywhere as the blonde seeker erupted out of the bath and pelted after the girl.   
Tom sighed again, hearing Hermione’s raised voice in the next room and the sound of a struggle. He lowered himself under the water that was slopping from one side of the tub to the other in settling waves and then, upon resurfacing, wandlessly summoned the shampoo from the shower, to wash his hair. 

Hermione was dragged, struggling and yelling, back into the bathroom shortly thereafter and the look on her face spoke a thousand angry, venomous, indignant, frightened words.   
Arms restrained by Draco behind her back, her fuzzy black bathrobe had been tugged and loosened in whatever tousle had occurred in her bedroom and now it gaped open all the way to her navel.   
As he was lathering his hair, Tom noted vaguely how she avoided looking at his body in the bath, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on a point an inch above his own eyes. He snorted and turned his attention back to his own grooming, leaning back into the water to rinse his shampoo out. 

“What is Malfoy doing here?!” Hermione demanded, once it became clear that he was intending to ignore her until he was finished with what he was doing. “How did he even get in here?! Have you found a way to get past the wards?! Answer me, you sneaky little viper!” She struggled again fruitlessly “LET GO, Malfoy!! Tell him to let go!..He’s hurting me.. and he’s..na-..inadequately clothed and bloody dripping wet!!”

Tom, floating on his back in the bath rinsing his hair, opened one eye and glanced toward them, taking in Draco’s acidic glare down at the chit. He was almost foaming at the mouth to be allowed to bite back at her, if not physically then verbally. With supreme restraint he turned his face back toward Tom, waiting for instruction.   
Good little Malfoy heir, Tom thought to himself, pleased.

He smirked faintly at them both. “Thank you, Draco. Do prevent her from overexerting herself, if possible. Hermione.. for the future, I might advise you to consider knocking before entering a shared bathroom. This kind of..incident.. can be so easily avoided with a little courtesy.” 

Draco snarled at the witch and, although it seemed to disgust him, adjusted his grip on her to further restrict her movement, twisting her arms up behind her and holding her somewhat closer. Hermione, fuming at his words to her didn’t react soon enough to resist and gave a small yelp of pain as her joints were forced into tension.

Having finished his hair, Tom sat up, beginning to reach a hand out to summon a towel and then, with a glance at Hermione, thinking better of it. The water dripped down him when he stood and carefully stepped up out of the bathtub, retrieving the towel manually. He dried his body methodically, enjoying the way that the witch fumed silently, eyes turned pointedly away from him.   
Draco had no such quibbles and stared at him as if he was a supremely desirable object that was inexplicably no longer available for purchase just as he had entered the store prepared to buy.

“I really am quite tired..” he said provocatively to Hermione “However since you insist upon joining us, perhaps I might find energy to indulge Draco after all..”  
This was met with mixed reception. Draco perked in sudden hope, smiling at him, but then abruptly picking up on the implication that any play between them was to include the witch he was restraining, his expression darkened and he looked at the top of the curly head with a repulsed sneer. Hermione on the other hand made it obvious that she wanted to curse Tom bloody.

“I truly loathe you” the witch growled hatefully. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

Tom smiled at her, turning and sauntering back into his room. The windows were dark. He frowned mildly. How inconvenient. Snape would be back soon. Glancing back over his shoulder he considered whether it might not be advisable to obliviate and release Hermione. A tempus confirmed that dinner would be beginning in the grand hall in less than an hour.   
On the other hand, Hermione didn’t know that he was pressed for time...

“Bring her” he said lightly. There was another small scuffle as Draco manhandled the curly haired witch, kicking and swearing into his room. He growled something softly next to her ear that Tom didn’t quite catch, although it ended in ‘Mudblood’. Whatever it was seemed to make Hermione wild with fury. She subsided with a much louder yelp as her arms were wrenched again. The blonde behind her wore a broad leer of satisfaction. 

Tom found he didn’t mind Draco’s ‘initiative’ in this instance, although he had not sought permission for it. It served only to heighten the curly haired witch’s fear.   
He approached them both with a predatory smile and reached for the ties on the robe that was just barely covering her, opening them and spreading the fluffy fabric.   
Hermione stared down at him, mortified, seeming to realise suddenly that this was in fact very, very serious.  
While he admired her body openly, Tom took in the peripheral disgust of the blonde wizard. It aroused a small flickering sense of guilty duty in him.

“Yes.. I know, Draco. Such a filthy, unworthy creature.. dirty muggle blood.. It’s quite repulsive, isn’t it?!”  
He enjoyed the aversive, affronted expression on Hermione’s face and the deep red blush that was unmistakeably not only due to her anger. The witch was ashamed! It was beautiful to watch.. although.. he was reminded of their conversation about Hermione’s choice to date a rather ignorant wizard. He had accused her of low self esteem primarily to provoke her.. but taking in the angry, uncertain hurt on her face now and her silence, he realised that she truly did not think herself worthy of being desired. Although she might rail against them on the surface.. somewhere within she believed the insults thrown at her.

“Disgusting.” Draco agreed with a sneer.

Tom narrowed his eyes, stepping closer and trailing a hand up Hermione’s side, feeling the flinch away and tensing of her body beneath his fingers. He permitted his thumb to stroke the underside of her breast lightly, his head tilted in apparent thought. To his unparalleled delight, her nipples hardened promptly and she swallowed, confusion and self-recrimination evident in her eyes.

“Although ...even you must admit, Draco” Tom murmured, deciding to reward Hermione’s physical responses to him “-she is extraordinarily pretty for one of such unfortunate birth... Quite intelligent too, if somewhat foolish in terms of recognising where her best interests lie.”  
The surprise on both Draco and Hermione’s faces drew a thin smile from him and he removed his hand, almost snatching it back from the soft, milky skin.   
“She is here to spy on me, of course.. to report on what I have been doing. I have even made it easy for her. I have allowed her freely into my presence.. I have attempted to speak with her..to build an acquaintance..   
Unfortunately for everyone involved, she is too frightened to spend any length of time around me, therefore it remains a mystery to her how you come to be inside my room.  
Oh.. I am certain she wonders just how much time I have been spending examining the security provisions keeping me here... but not quite enough to remain here and observe me, as she has been instructed to do.   
No.. she runs away at the drop of a hat.. virtually at the mere sight of me. She is failing in her task here and does not wish to admit it to herself.   
It would have been so.. simple.. for her to endear herself to me..   
...I have asked her for a number of small, insignificant favours.. and do you think she would agree to grant me even the tiniest concession?!”

“YOU DID-“ the girl (who had been slowly coming to a boil over the course of Tom’s critique) screeched furiously, and then caught herself and growled between gritted teeth “You did NOT ask for small.. insignificant.. favours, you bastard! You asked me for things that I’m NOT allowed to give you, you threatened me, assaulted me and then you tried to blackmail your way into my bed!!”

Tom grinned expansively, feeling a strange new foreign awareness tickle at the edge of his mind next to Draco and Snape’s marks and Harry Potter’s strange presence. He let his head fall back and bathed in the warm glow of triumph. Generally he would never offer more than a smile in public, but there were moments that warranted a true grin.

“Thank you, Hermione. I was beginning to wonder whether you would ever slip up. Honestly.. I thought you had somehow found a way to evade it.. it certainly seemed as if Snape was aware of things at times.”

The girl fell back against Draco as if she’d been slapped. The blonde in turn pulled his head back in shocked disgust at her proximity. His eyes flicked between them both, confused and upset. Tom assumed that the upset was over the fact that he might try to ‘blackmail’ his way into the filthy mudblood’s bed, when he had only tonight refused Draco himself.

“No.. no .. I didn’t. I didn’t mean to.. I’ve been..” Hermione looked down in horror. 

Clearly then, she had understood the import of her oath and had been either intentionally avoiding breaking it or, indeed, had been somehow skirting it.

“Hermione has just granted me complete control over her magic, Draco.” Tom explained considerately “ She submitted to a guided wand oath several days ago and has just now violated its terms.” 

Draco’s face split into the brightest, incredulous grin. “Seriously?.. The know-it-all mudblood was stupid enough to enter into an oath with you?! Oh Merlin.. that is too fucking rich. I wish I could tell Blaise and Pansy about this. Sweet fucking Salazar..Mudblood Granger a squib at the Dark Lord’s whim. It’s better than anything I’d thought of doing to her!” 

He sobered at Tom’s sharp, cold glare.. 

“I won’t tell Blaise or Pansy.. or anyone, obviously. ..I-I was just saying.. there are so many people who would revel in this.” Draco lowered his head, grey eyes flicking up at Tom beseechingly and lowering again in submission.

Content with the response, Tom smirked again faintly and turned his attention back to the exposed witch in front of him.   
He stepped closer, ignoring the way the girl pushed back against Draco, trying to retreat, and reached for the fluffy bathrobe, pulling it closed across Hermione’s pert little body, tying it snugly with an air of satisfaction.

“I think that you and I shall speak about the consequences of this later, Hermione” he told her with quiet intensity.   
“For the moment, since you are obviously incapable of holding your tongue regarding what you learn here, I will assist you to do so.”

Drawing back again, he folded his arms and considered which spell to use. There were a number that were suitable. He could have used such a spell from the beginning, but at the time it had seemed too perfect.. too convenient.. to make the oath and hope that the witch would fail.   
He decided upon one of the more benign options. It would cause no lasting harm. 

Stretching out his hand, fingers splayed, he cast the spell silently. 

Hermione blinked in surprise at the sensation of a spell and seemed to crumple.   
“You.. you don’t need a wand.. you’ve..never needed a wand at all.. You could have.. at any time.. oh god..” she whimpered, struggling weakly again.   
Draco’s lowered eyes were dark with pleasure, as he twisted her arm fractionally until she stood docile once more.

“If you could please tell Draco what I was doing when you spoke to me yesterday, Hermione..” Tom prompted politely. “-I believe I might be prepared to release you unharmed.”

Amber eyes, fraught with distress, held his own. He could see her working through the realities of her situation. 

“He was reading” she said and then frowned, irritated. He watched her line the words up in her head and try again to say ‘he had my cat, Crookshanks, in his room’.   
“He was reading Emmerson’s ‘Form and Flow”

A small satisfied smirk twisting his lips, Tom glanced up at Draco and then back to the witch’s frustrated face. “That’s very good, Hermione. I believe we have solved your little problem with maintaining appropriate discretion.   
You understand, I hope –that you will encounter this effect whenever you attempt to tell anyone, whether verbally or via any other means of communication, anything that I do not wish you to relate – irrespective whether or not I happen to be present.   
That includes, therefore, teachers. I can easily have you answering questions in class..or in tests.. incorrectly if I wish. You could be losing points for your house every time you open your mouth, if I desire it.   
It would be.. such a pity to unnecessarily destroy a reputation that you have put so much work into maintaining, don’t you agree?! Such a waste for the top student to suddenly become...average... or even below average..perhaps in need of remedial assistance if she hopes at all to pass her NEWTs.  
..I can have you insulting your friends and provoking your enemies. How might it feel to be utterly isolated from all who might previously have befriended you..or hexed into the infirmary by retaliating foes when you are unable to use your magic to defend yourself. ...But at present I believe I will grant you the benefit of the doubt and not restrain you from more than matters pertaining to myself..   
I trust that you will not attempt anything unwise before our conversation later this evening. The spell can only be released by the caster and, should you test me, I promise you, I will leave you a squib, babbling nothing but gibberish for the rest of your lonely existence. And this spell is the least of what I might do to you, should you prove determined to fight me, Hermione.”

Tom stopped at the glorious sight of the girl’s surrender. She looked like she could not think of a way to get out of her predicament without worsening it. The sense of powerlessness was exactly what he intended and it was beautiful to look upon. 

“I hate you” she whispered forlorn.

Tom snorted and narrowed his eyes, smirking cruelly. “Perhaps.. however I am quite confident that that is the last time you will ever tell me so, Hermione.”   
He noticed suddenly the way that Draco was staring at him. The awe in his grey eyes was nearly blinding. He resembled a devotee before their idol.  
Intrigued and no longer having any further use for Hermione, Tom gestured airily to him “Release her. Let her run off and think about how easily all of this might have been avoided had she been ..friendlier..when I gave her the chance.”

Draco tossed Hermione from him, brushing off his arms and grimacing in disgust, briefly looking down the length of his naked body as if he were covered in rotting refuse.   
The witch, barely catching her footing, flew in the direction of her room, much as Tom had predicted, slamming the door after her and locking it. He sniffed in amusement at the muffled sob of dismay heard faintly when Hermione obviously found herself unable to cast the wards over the door.

“You may have a shower, if you wish, Draco” Tom offered graciously, riding the effervescent good humour of his victory and feeling disposed toward generosity.   
“I do believe that I would not have so easily attained that particular goal, had you not been present.”

The older boy looked relieved on both counts and asked with a low entreating purr . “Will you join me, my Lord?”

Tom pulled a face “I think not. My hair is freshly washed. I have no intention of washing it again or allowing it to become unnecessarily greasy.”  
Draco stepped close in two impatient paces. “Then I won’t shower either... unless you want me to. But Severus will be coming to get me soon and I can think of much better uses for the remaining time.”   
He looked down at Tom with soft intensity; his grey eyes heated as he leaned subtly toward him.

Tom considered it.

He was feeling rather good now.. and found he wasn’t entirely opposed to feeling even better.   
Generously he flicked a scourgify over the larger boy, knowing that Draco would continue to be tense and repulsed otherwise.  
“Perhaps I might possibly ..allow you ...to show me how we might better use our time..” 

Draco had his arms around him and his lips pressed to Tom’s own almost before he had finished speaking. Tom hesitated only for a moment and then returned the kiss, parting his lips for Draco’s hot questing tongue. He tried to seize the initiative but it was not entirely easy when his head was craned so far back to meet the much taller boy, and he broke away, gasping.   
Draco, unperturbed, simply bent lower and attacked his neck, nibbling and sucking in the most enticing way.   
Shuddering, Tom reached for him, his eyes slipping closed in pleasure. Draco was so good at this. Maybe it didn’t feel as mindlessly pleasurable to touch him as it did Harry.. but Draco seemed to know exactly what felt the best. He wasn’t at all hesitant. 

With the way Draco’s hands were suddenly all over him and his teeth biting him just a little harder, making him shiver and flush and groan, Tom was breathing fast, lost in sensation and didn’t pay any attention at all to how he was subtly walked backward till his thighs hit the bed. In his moment of surprised realisation, Draco had already lifted him up against his body as if he weighed nothing. 

He hissed when a hot breath rushed over his ear and Draco murmured for him to put his legs around him. 

When he did, without thinking, it felt so unaccountably comfortable and right. Draco’s hands slid down his back and cupped his arse, supporting him, and their cocks were pressed together between them in delicious tight friction.   
More importantly, he was now almost at the same height as the taller boy. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled on the blond silk, dragging Draco from the spine melting things he was doing to his neck, to claim the older boy’s lips again.   
This time their kiss was more even and their tongues fought and twirled in balance. Tom felt a dizzy rush and moaned softly into the older boy’s mouth. The reaction seemed to provoke Draco as he abruptly seized control of the kiss and sucked suggestively on Tom’s tongue. Taken aback, Tom felt his cock quiver helplessly. He struggled to regain a clear mind through the fog of lust. The feeling of almost intoxication made his stomach flutter. It was unsettlingly reminiscent of the last time that he had been with the blonde wizard. He felt weak.  
There was a brief sense of disorientation as the warm surface he was wrapped around suddenly shifted and became horizontal, as Draco climbed onto his knees on the bed and then carefully lowered them both till Tom’s back rested on the covers. He found himself looking up into grey eyes dark with lust.   
“I fucking hate Potter more than ever right now” Draco growled and fell to dragging hungry, open mouthed kisses over Tom’s smooth jaw, his hips grinding tantalisingly against him, bringing their cocks into smooth maddening friction.   
Tom groaned at the feeling, scrambling to unwind his arms from around Draco’s neck and bring his hands down to the other boy’s arse, so that he could direct the amazing gyrations.   
He wasn’t prepared for the seventh year’s hand to insert itself between them both, gripping both their cocks together and stroking them with practiced skill. Draco’s hand was much bigger than his own and it felt better than it had felt when he did it to Harry. He hissed a soft expletive in parseltongue, barely noticing Draco’s faint surprised flinch at the sound.

“Don’t..stop..” he moaned, bucking his hips up into Draco’s hand. A small kiss was pressed to the corner of his panting mouth. 

“I owe you more than this” Draco murmured against his cheek huskily. “I owe you my mouth at the very least. ...I..regret.. last time.”

“don’t care. Keep doing.. that.. Feels.. so good!!..”   
He clutched at the larger body above him, kissing Draco blindly as he rocked into the hot sweaty-slick cave of the seventh year’s hand.   
Draco expressed something between a contented sigh and a moan, tightening his hand slightly.   
Tom came soon after, arching and tensing with an ecstatic gasp, seeing white before his eyes. He felt Draco slow and stop his stroking, although the larger boy had not reached his own completion yet.   
Softening into an almost liquid state of relaxation, his eyes closed, Tom caught his breath. 

Soft gentle kisses were placed lightly on his heated cheeks and jaw. He offered a tired smile and turned his face, intercepting one with his mouth and chastely kissing Draco back.

“After you’ve had Potter..” Draco’s lips whispered against his cheekbone. “..will you...” the words stopped uncertainly. Tom knew what the older boy was asking. He could almost hear Draco’s mind trying to find a way to phrase it

“Perhaps” he answered and then amended it to “Probably”

Yes, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t have them both. He merely wanted Harry first. But afterward..well.. Draco did seem a lot more enthused by the prospect of being in his bed now. And he wanted to know whether he could coax the delicious sounds from the other boy that Lord Voldemort had. 

“mmm.. then I guess I’ll have to wait and hope that scarhead is less of a prude than he always seems to be” Draco purred, his warm breath ghosting over Tom’s neck.

Tom, his eyes still closed, nodded vaguely, feeling sleep wrestling with his resolve again.

“Are you able to sleep now?” Draco asked lightly “Or do you need me to keep you awake till the afterglow passes?”

Tom sighed but did not open his eyes, drowsiness already infiltrating his thinking. “I shouldn’t sleep yet..” he mumbled. “Easier to... if..I don’t..”

Draco bit him.

His eyes flicked open in shock as he jolted in unexpected pain. The blonde detached his teeth at once from where they had nipped sharply high on Tom’s chest, just above his heart.   
The horcrux turned an annoyed glare upon the boy above him, who was presently cradling him in his arms.   
“Draco..” he growled and there was no humour in it.   
He was considering hexing him when the other boy smiled and licked over the red pinched mark gently. Draco didn’t stop his ministrations there, however, but continued licking and then kissing his chest. Tom was on the brink of ordering him to stop.   
The words melted from his mind when Draco seized upon a nipple, sucking it gently between his pale pink lips, silvery eyes still fixed daringly on Tom’s own.   
The sensation made something in his stomach flutter in excitement and his groin tightened again sharply.   
Draco released the now hard little bud with a quiet sucking noise and smirked up at him.

“There is no way that I’m leaving you with nothing but a handjob again” he reminded Tom with somewhat bitter humour. “Turn over..”

Tom’s eyes widened and he tensed defensively.

The seventh year reacted with a jolt of fright.   
“No.. no I don’t mean that. Fuck.. I’ll never try to do that again. I.. I just thought.. I’d massage you.. Maybe rim you a bit.. You never got to feel what its like to come with someone’s tongue in your arse.   
Or..maybe you’d just rather my mouth around your cock. I’m ..i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think that i’d... I’m.. sorry..”  
Draco’s grey eyes lowered penitently and he held himself very still, waiting for judgement to fall upon him.

Tom frowned slightly. He actually remembered quite well what it felt like to have Draco’s tongue in his arse. It had felt too good. If it hadn’t been for the principle of the thing, and if it hadn’t then hurt so badly, he’d almost have let him have his way. Seeing his other self fuck the other boy had only added to that unacceptable curiosity.   
No.. it would be better not to give in to that particular temptation or potentially strengthen it by allowing Draco to tease him again with his tongue.. He would not bottom. Not for anyone. He was no one’s toy.

“Your mouth then.” He answered with guarded permissiveness.

Draco’s eyes flew up with painful relief. They looked quite glassy, as if he had been suppressing tears. He smiled weakly and immediately threw himself into teasing and worshipping Tom’s chest, drawing up every now and then and capturing his lips or sucking on his earlobe, nibbling here or there on his throat. Tom found himself soon swayed anew into a delirious panting excitement. Draco was biting him on his ribs and down his abdomen but it felt..so good. It hurt and felt good all at once. He reached and brushed his fingers through the silky blonde hair presently feathering over his pelvis. 

The hot slithery sensation of a tongue sliding up the underside of his cock forced a rather undignified gasping groan from him. He strained his hips up toward the hot breath he felt and lifted his head so that he could see what the older boy was doing.   
Draco was giving an amazing impression of a vampire over the virgin’s throat. His eyes were hooded and hungry and he was licking his lips.

Noticing Tom watching him he smiled seductively and parted his lips, leaning down and brushing them over the underside of Tom’s mushroom cap. The jolt of it was so much more when he could see it, Tom found as his cock leapt sharply.

“You know..” Draco purred softly. “Don’t take this the wrong way... but I really like your body.. I like how young you are..” 

At Tom’s startled, suspicious, expression he added quickly “Oh i’m not saying that I’m generally attracted to other fourth years.. it’s not your age as such that I like - but you aren’t really this young – it’s not like i’m taking advantage of you.. you’re the Dark Lord.. and I can please you so much more in this body right now. In a few years you’ll be so much bigger and you’ll be so much more experienced. I won’t be able to do what I can do now, I won’t be able to please you as well with my mouth as I can right now, while you’re still...younger.”

A strange painful joy constricted his chest as he looked down at the pretty silvery blonde wizard. Was it an honest declaration? Or did Draco somehow know?! Had he perhaps worked out somehow that Tom had been feeling ...sensitive... about his appearance?!   
Tom played over what he had said to the other boy when they had been in bed last. There.. yes. Draco was likely merely a competent Slytherin. Last time he had warned him that punishment would follow if the word ‘child’ fell from his lips even once.  
He tried to ignore the tiny painful sigh of resignation the realisation evoked. 

“Show me” he instructed, both in order to move things toward their conclusion and to get away from further deceitful reassurance. 

Draco seemed to catch the slight coolness in his voice and his face fell fractionally in disappointment, his light grey eyes holding Tom’s own for a few beats longer, trying to impress upon him with silent emphasis the earnest nature of his words.   
When Tom let his head fall back and closed his eyes, he heard the other boy expel a breath that might almost have been a soft sigh. 

The hesitation lingered on for only a few seconds more and then Tom twitched slightly as Draco’s warm face descended to nuzzle him, mouthing gently up and down the shaft of his cock.   
It was easy to think of nothing but the pure sensation as his balls were bathed and cradled in a hot wet mouth singly and then together. By the time Draco had begun to swallow his length in long powerful sucks, mmming with apparent delight, Tom was groaning and mewling, trying to buck up against the hands holding him in place. His own fingers were twined firmly in the silk of the older boy’s hair, tugging ineffectually to try and change the speed and depth that Draco saw fit to move at.   
It was much...much..better than his hand. He decided quickly that he wanted this from now on..   
and he wanted to feel what it was like for Harry to do it to him too.   
It was bliss and desperation at the same time like this - when Draco did not have an ulterior motive.. when he was not trying to merely bring him to fall.

Draco did not tease him too long, within minutes he had him screaming out and exploding into the hot, wet, tight suction of his mouth. The movement of his throat around the head of Tom’s cock, as the blonde swallowed his emission, had him shuddering anew in pleasure. Draco gentled his movements then, sucking softly until Tom tugged at his hair to stop him.   
The feeling was..too much.. afterward. The slightest lick made him shiver and jolt. He needed to breathe. 

He felt Draco move away slightly and then the shifting of the bed communicated that the other boy was crawling up toward the top of the mattress. He cracked a bleary eye, following him cautiously, but Draco simply lowered himself to lie beside him, wearing a strangely contented and affectionate expression.   
When Tom didn’t protest, he moved closer and tentatively slid his arms beneath and around him, embracing him tenderly.  
He might have fallen asleep were it not for Draco’s periodic kisses and nuzzles, nudging him back to awareness.   
Thankfully he didn’t try to bite again. If his present state of peaceful comfort had been disturbed by unexpected pain, punishment would have certainly followed.

 

“I see we are getting along famously”

The acidic, disapproving tone of the damned beak-nosed ghoul was enough to send the adrenalin racing through Tom’s body, bringing him back to full wakefulness. His eyes opened, glaring unseeing at Draco’s collarbone and neck that were in front of his face. They were both still naked and entwined languidly on the bed.   
He could feel the slight tension that had crept into the older boy’s shoulders and arms, and wondered whether it was a defensive reaction to being exposed in front of this professor, with whom he served as a death eater and who he seemed to have permission to address informally.   
It would obviously not be a protective reaction or a tensing in unwillingness to release Tom from his arms.

With a suppressed sigh, Tom rolled away from Draco, stretching and then sitting up to offer Snape an even stare.

“Like a house on fire, Severus. Incidentally..you do realise that if you try to sequester him here with me, my other self will curse you within an inch of your life and will repeat the message until he is returned?!” 

This evoked a dark dubious sniff from the professor. Tom raised an eyebrow. He really had expected the man to be less obtuse. Oh well. Let it be spelled out for Snape then.

“...I recognise the symmetry in bringing me your Lord’s new pet. I am sure that it was his idea, in fact. After all, if one cannot be good to oneself, where does that leave one?!   
However, my time with Draco aside, I assume you are aware that he has taken Draco into his bed and he is not fond of having his toys taken away.” 

It was extraordinarily satisfying to view the severe wizard in his tightly buttoned robes so suddenly and completely disordered. Snape looked horrified. He looked furious and frightened and frustrated.   
Tom allowed himself a small smirk at the unusual excess of emotion upon the dour crow’s face and continued unnecessarily.

“If you do not return him fairly promptly - I imagine that heads will roll...villages will burn...there will be an almighty wailing and a gnashing of teeth, ...etcetera, ...etcetera. So..I cannot entirely comprehend how you might have reasoned earlier - in our conversation when you first brought him here - that Draco would be more suited to staying with me than would Hermione.   
I am seriously rethinking the reasoning behind blood prejudice due to my interactions with the girl, incidentally. You really have changed my entire worldview.. I presume that was your intention in placing her here with me – an intelligent, attractive mudblood, quite capable of defending herself both verbally and magically.  
Do bring Draco back to visit me, though. I have enjoyed our afternoon together. The time really has flown by much too fast! ”

Snape’s apoplexy could barely deepen further. Tom was not certain that the man had even processed the rest of what he had said to him. It was clear from his wide, concerned, obsidian gaze fixed upon Draco, that he had not had any inkling of Draco’s intimacies with the Dark Lord and that the knowledge of it disturbed him as nothing else had thusfar – not even Lucius Malfoy’s perverse affection for the boy.

“Mr Malfoy!” he snapped hollowly “Get dressed. At once! Move!”

Draco looked across at Tom with a barely veiled frown. ‘What did you tell him for?!’ the resentful expression seemed to say as the boy got up from the bed slowly

He really was too tired, he realised with a start, suddenly realising that he had been too tired to appropriately cover his tracks, and had then, to add insult to injury, put Snape in a position where he would be more than usually motivated to scour Draco’s memories. Tom recalled the sensation of the wretched man moving through his mind. Snape was skilled.. and he was patient. Draco’s defences would not hold under sustained scrutiny.   
Lord Voldemort’s bed was, however, not all that said memories would reveal, should he be interrogated now...   
He should have expected it.. had in fact known about it. Lord Voldemort had even stated it in his letter. He had simply become too sleep deprived and it had led him to make a considerable error!  
All the patient waiting.. all the irritation with Hermione.. and it would all be for nought if his power over the chit was discovered now through Draco’s memories.   
He had hexed the girl.. but he had not hexed Draco – and such a hex would be useless against legilimency anyway...

A sudden horrified realisation dawned in his mind. 

Damn.   
Damn Damn Damn!.. he had really been too exhausted to think straight and had thrown it all away.   
Hermione had been prevented from revealing anything here before she had broken the oath.. but now.. now she was no longer bound by the oath and the spell he had used would not guard against legilimency – merely overt communication. It had been another reason that he had originally chosen the oath. It had seemed an effective deterrent.  
His mind moved quickly. If she had known the danger of revealing secrets before and had only broken the oath today.. then she had prevented the use of legilimency upon her somehow thus far. Perhaps she would continue to do so.   
It was by no means certain.. it was not even likely, he realised. But it was the only remaining chance.   
Perhaps Hermione would not want to take the risk that he would truly permanently remove her magic and ability to communicate. Perhaps she would, for once, do what he told her to do.

But that tiny fragile hope was moot if Snape discovered Draco’s memories of the episode with Hermione.   
Tom watched Draco slipping on his boxer shorts at a sedate pace, his face an emotionless mask.   
He could obliviate him. Even wandless, he was sure he would be capable of the charm without destroying the boy’s mind. Probably..possibly.. even in his present mazed state.  
But the results of that would be unthinkable, even if he succeeded. Revealing to Snape the true extent of his wandless abilities would inevitably draw much harsher restriction after it. He would never again gain access to Hermione, Draco or Harry.

Gritting his teeth slightly he resigned himself to sacrificing one of his more useful hidden abilities instead.

“Draco..” he murmured, while the blonde was fastening his trousers.   
Looking up, the blonde met Tom’s gaze and raised his eyebrows slightly, in hope.   
Tom smiled.   
“Perhaps you might give me one goodbye kiss?”

Draco’s face betrayed a moment of relief as he moved in his direction.   
Tom wondered at that. Did the seventeen year old trust him so implicitly?! 

Behind the approaching blonde, Tom could see Snape’s face flicker in realisation and then break into an expression of panic as he raised his wand to stop Draco.   
It was too late though.   
Tom twisted on the bed with the last of his energy and launched himself at the older boy, meeting him in midair and throwing him backward in an inadvertent tackle.   
Draco’s shocked eyes met his own as Tom gripped his left forearm over the mark while they sailed toward the floor.   
It was all over before they even hit the ground. He had hissed ::sleep:: in parseltongue and Draco’s eyes had closed.   
He did not actually experience their landing however because Snape’s stupefy struck him in midair and threw him off Draco, tossing him violently through the air in the direction of the wall.   
And then.. finally.. ..blissfully.. he slept.


	15. Chapter 15

Green.

Shimmering above, a blur that never quite slipped into focus.

His head throbbed with pain. What had happened?! What was happening? The memory hovered just out of reach. 

Disorientated, Tom’s eyes slipped closed again and he clenched them tightly, trying to think back to the last thing he recalled.

“Tom?”  
The familiar voice was anxious, worried.. and slightly suspicious. Tom placed it, after a moment of confusion.

“Ha..” he started, surprised to find his face aching. It felt as if his mouth were swollen and stuffed with cotton wool. His voice, he could not help but notice, was thick and gravelly. The sensation was one that he had not felt in many...   
...years, he had wanted to say.  
But it was decades now since he had last been badly beaten; so very long since he had been unable to defend himself magically, whether intentionally or accidentally. 

“Tom??!” Harry’s voice sounded more concerned now as he emphatically demanded his attention. It was with grudging resignation that he forced his eyes open once again and struggled to bring the world into focus.   
He was lying on the floor. The chill of flagstones below him informed that he was naked. Pain was.. was.. everywhere. Too many parts of his body hurt.   
And Harry Potter was kneeling beside him; kneeling over him, wand in hand. His face was twisted with shock and adrenalin and pinched in unmistakeable empathy.  
The sight of that made the pain worse. There was very little he despised more than pity.

“What happened?!” Harry whispered urgently. 

This was indeed the question that was foremost in Tom’s mind right now too.  
When he looked up at the boy with confused questioning and painfully twitched his eyebrows up in lieu of trying to croak a response, harry continued breathlessly. 

“I.. I..waited. Er.. when Snape told me to get out after he barged in with Malfoy.. I didn’t leave. I waited. Downstairs. I was planning on coming back up after they buggered off. But then Snape left and Malfoy wasn’t with him.. and I tried to come up and...” Tom watched the killing curse eyes flick nervously. “I.. didn’t want to leave you alone with Malfoy. But the door was warded. I couldn’t get in.. I had to wait for Snape to come back. Then when he did.. I tried to sneak up with him, but he slammed the door in my face.” 

Harry swallowed thickly, seeming to hesitate. 

“Before it closed.. I..I saw you.   
You were.. that is.. you and Malfoy were... um.. both of you were..uh..” 

Tom watched the pink rise in the other boy’s cheeks before Harry seemed to pull himself together.   
“You were lying on the bed together. You looked...well.. You looked like you were asleep but..er.. both of you were..”   
He seemed to steel himself and a small glower flickered on his face   
“You were naked. And Malfoy had his arms around you.. He was looking down at you really oddly”   
Harry seemed to scrutinise his response to this, his expression wavering insecurely between concern and angry betrayal. 

It was obvious to Tom that allowing Harry confirmation that he had voluntarily had intimate relations with Draco would not be at all in his interests in this moment. He needed Harry to tell him what had happened. Had Harry cursed him into this state?!   
With some difficulty, Tom intensified the confusion on his puffy face as much as he was able, and tried to manufacture a tinge of fear.

It seemed this had the desired effect upon Harry. He almost looked relieved, although that look was replaced with one of guilt a moment later.  
“It.. it took me too long to realise the door wasn’t warded.” He hushed, green eyes lowering and avoiding Tom’s own. “I’m sorry! But I.. When I worked it out and.. ok.. maybe I was a bit shocked at seeing you like that. I ..didn’t know what to think” He ducked his head slightly as if ashamed..   
“But...when I heard the spells... the...the sounds..and realised what was happening I came in. I stopped him! I’m sorry, Tom! I should have reacted faster. This is my fault! He...they.. hurt you! And I let them. I should have stayed with you. I shouldn’t have just left earlier because Snape said to. This never would have happened...”  
A horrible thought seemed to occur to him and Tom blanched as the verdegris gaze snapped back onto his own and focused intently.  
“Has anything like this happened before, Tom?” 

Tom considered his options for a split second before strategically widening his eyes and letting them slip away to the side aversively. He tensed defensively, his posture making clear that this was not a topic he was prepared to entertain.   
He could actually feel the anguish of the other boy. It was a most peculiar realisation. Almost like the sensation of legilimency, the feeling was like something amorphous and alien. Identifiable but apart from him somehow. 

“D-does professor Dumbledore know?” Harry whispered. There was a tinge of hope in his voice that this was not the case.

Tom shrugged one shoulder as if to say ‘if he does, he doesn’t care’. He knew what was coming next and it made his innards clench in nervous anticipation. If he got this wrong...everything could come tumbling down.

“You’ve got to tell him! WE’ve got to tell him, Tom! He’d never allow-“

Tom’s eyes cracked back to the other boy, widening in terror as he shook his head emphatically, ignoring the pain. He did his best to cringe away and forced his lips into a silent ‘No!!’  
It was sufficient, he saw. Harry, unmistakeably torn with indecision at what the ‘right thing to do’ might be, nevertheless backed away from the possibility of imminently summoning the old goat.

“But.. you’re hurt..” he mumbled plaintively. “I.. I don’t know how to..”

Tom wasn’t entirely sure of the extent of his injuries. Tentatively he tried to move and the pain that had been a dull burning ache lashed through him like a wild creature. Definitely injured then, he conceded to himself. Severus had likely used curses that had complete countercurses, since he would want to restore him after relieving his own frustrated anger, however since Harry did not hear the curses, and he had no idea what had happened to the potions master, that fact would not much help him. If the man was still around here, he doubted very much that Harry would be capable of legilimising him for the answers. 

“Wand..” he coughed weakly. 

The complete lack of hesitation with which the attractive boy pressed the wooden shaft into Tom’s weak palm was gratifying. The thrum of connection evoked when their skin brushed for that second was excruciating however. He flinched away, nearly dropping the wand and ignoring the flustered apologies from the older boy above him.   
He whispered the incantation for a diagnostic spell, realising with frustration that he was not in a position to see the colour and intensity of glow that would be emanating from the various injuries over his body. It couldn’t be helped however, it was one of the few that could be cast upon oneself and, of the multitude that he had learned over the solitary years, it was the one he felt most confident in applying, in light of the fact that he could test none of what he learned from the medical texts, lacking the ability to cause himself or another injury whilst inside the diary.   
It was clearly working, however. He would have known by the soft amber tinge bathing his head, even if he had not been in a position to see the startled and curious expression on Harry’s face. The way the boy’s eyes travelled over his body, hesitating here and there as his eyebrows furrowed in concern, brought Tom to an idea. It seemed the most efficient course of action at this point. 

“Harry-“ he whispered.

The bright, anxious gaze snapped back from where it had been lingering, full of alert eagerness to be told what to do. Tom caught it and held it, breathing the word before the oftentimes difficult wizard could react and stop him.  
“legilimens”

It was an entirely different sensation to use the spell on Harry than it had been to use it upon Draco. While Draco had been unwilling, he was skilled in occlumency and it felt much like fighting his way forward through layers of sticky morass. When Draco had not occluded, the passage had been almost streamlined.. as if he were smoothly guided along silky strands to the exact memory he had sought.  
Harry, on the other hand, clearly did not have great skill or ability in occlumency, yet the sensation that penetration evoked in Tom’s mind was one of struggling in choppy water.   
The boiling roil of emotion that the boy was producing was sickening. Anger and terror swirled amidst a vague sense of betrayal and self recrimination. He could feel Harry trying desperately to eject him, but not knowing the first thing about how to do it.  
It was not an unpleasant feeling, Tom thought. It made him feel powerful. Nevertheless, ignoring the satisfying rush to his ego, he pushed deeper and concentrated, trying intuitively to soothe the boy’s mind and calm him. What he needed to access would be on the very surface of Harry’s mind, inconveniently enough. This interference and disorder would not prevent him from delving into the consolidated memories hidden on deeper levels, but it would effectively prevent the rather innocuous purpose to which he was bending Legilimency in this instance.

He whispered into the panicking mind around him “Still, Harry. Be very still. I need to see your memory of the diagnostic spell. That’s all. Calm.. I won’t hurt you.. Just that...”

The boy’s suspicion and hope joined the turbulent mix of emotions thickening the soup of his mind. Tom hissed in irritation.  
“Harry. need help.. stop.. stop! The spell. What did you see? Hurry.. hurts... don’t have enough energy to fight you and heal myself too. Please..”

It seemed that the matron at the orphanage had been right about one thing in her sorry muggle existence. Please was in fact a magic word. The moment he used it, he felt Harry’s mind struggle to calm itself and the recent memory surfaced around him as if a key had been turned in a lock.   
He was left kneeling beside Harry, both of them looking down upon his bruised and bloody body, upon which glowed a disturbingly broadly arrayed range of light pulses.   
Severus had definitely done a rather thorough number on him, he realised. He wasn’t entirely certain that he could heal everything here without assistance from a mediwitch or healer. His ribs and pelvis were shattered. His intestines were knotted and there was something very wrong in his legs. He didn’t know how to interpret the purple and orange flickering light around his knees that shaded up into a sickly yellow on his thighs. His only thought was that it could be something alive. Some creature magically transfigured into his body.   
If he only knew the curses the wretched man had used!   
If Harry had simply waited! Severus would have healed him seamlessly. 

He turned to the boy in question but the glare he had prepared faded slightly as he watched the way Harry was looking at him; The way his eyes lingered over the anatomy below him.   
He realised, peripherally, although he had ignored it thus far, he could detect faintly a strange warm feeling beneath the fearful concern. A tinge of guilt too.   
Harry was attracted to him... or at the very least he found himself mildly aroused, looking down at Tom like this.  
It was an odd time to feel such a thing. Tom wondered whether the other boy wanted to hurt him. It was possible, he supposed. From what he had learned – Harry had more than enough hate for Lord Voldemort.  
Filing the observation away, he returned to the practical matter at hand. How was he supposed to fix this?! He could already feel his strength flagging and Harry would not be much help if he passed out again. In all likelihood he would summon Professor Dumbledore if Tom were not actively begging him not to.  
Steeling himself for the exhaustion he knew he would face, he pulled back from the memory, withdrawing himself from Harry’s mind.  
The wave of weakness that struck him rolled his eyes back in his head. It was only Harry frantically yelling and grabbing him that dragged him back to full awareness once again with an undignified scream of pain. At least the boy had sense enough to let go of him again as he struggled weakly. 

Panting and clenching his eyes against the seeming exponential increase in the level of agony he was now experiencing at rest, he tried to come up with a plan that would not result in the exposition of everything he had done thus far and the probable binding of his wandless magic.   
He could see few options – and none that he felt entirely comfortable with. All relied upon the will of others.  
Had he really any other choice though? He could not heal himself when he could barely move his hand and he would pass out...quite soon now..  
He had Harry. Harry wanted to help him.   
How far would Harry go to help him though?

“Snape..” he whispered up at the waiting boy. “Make him... undo... the curses”

Harry’s eyes widened comically as he sat back on his heels.  
“You want me to wake him up?!! No Way!! There’s no telling what he’ll do if I wake him up! How the bloody hell am I supposed to make Snape do anything?! He’ll know it was me then too! He’ll tell..”

Tom mused with pain-dulled amusement that his apparent enemy was seemingly more terrified of a servant than he was of the master.  
Of course.. Severus did not behave as a servant should. He was undoubtedly Dumbledore’s man. That did change things somewhat, to his thinking.

“Harry..” he murmured thickly, swallowing at something sour in his throat that he suspected might be bile. “can’t...heal this.. Need you to-“ he broke off as the liquid suddenly choked him and he had to cough. The wracking spasms made his chest feel like a bed of bone splinters – which it in fact was. He couldn’t breath and each gasp he tore threatened to set off another round of coughing. He could hear Harry swearing and muttering exhortations to some god to tell him what to do. He sounded very very afraid.  
He realised suddenly that this was quite serious. This was in fact more serious than escape plans. 

“dying..” he choked out, eyes clenched as he tried to slow his breathing once more. If he remained calm he would stand a better chance of minimising the damage to his internal organs and remaining alive long enough for someone..anyone.. to heal him.

“I.. ok.. How?! Tell me how to make him take the curses off!”

Tom wanted to say that getting Snape to take the curses off was not going to be the hard part – Snape would likely panic and act to restore him the moment he realised what was going on and how close to death Tom was – the hard part would be preventing him from further action at that point; stopping him from summoning Dumbledore and/or incapacitating them both. The hardest part would be removing the memory from the man who was at this point infinitely more skilled in occlumency than Tom was in Legilimency.  
Tom wanted to say all of this but it seemed that his body had decided that enough was enough. A sudden sweeping chill made his entire frame shiver and he found himself sinking...losing grip on himself.

 

Half aware he dimly registered the sound of voices...someone was having an argument somewhere far away. Voices yelling..

The next thing he was aware of with any degree of collected sentience was a feeling of sharp icy coldness. It seemed to converge all around him and then draw into a sharp point stabbing into the centre of his body, He writhed, pinioned by it and hearing distant screams he knew were his own.

“Tom!!” 

Harry yelling.. His eyes flicked open in time for a bright lilac flash to strike him forcefully. It felt like it was tearing out his innards. He shrieked and struggled. It was the realisation that he could struggle; could kick and strample with his feet that alerted him to the fact that he was being healed, curse by curse.

“You’re Hurting him!! Fucking Bastard! You said-“

“Continue to distract me, Potter and you shall see what hurting him looks like. I am healing him. Which would not be necessary, had you not taken it upon yourself to leap into the fray yet again and involve yourself in matters that are none of your concern. You are an infernal-

“Not necessary?! You CURSED him! What the-“

It was sufficient, Tom decided. He was quite able to move now. That would be enough for the moment. Taking advantage of the distraction that Harry was unknowingly providing, he stretched a hand out in the direction of his traitorous servant and silently sent a stunner at him. 

Severus dodged it with deceptive flexibility, cursing and raising his wand to return the favour. 

Internally, Tom accepted that failure was now certain. He was sufficiently healed to continue his repair autonomously, but certainly not nearly well enough to engage in a duel with this wizard. He suspected that duelling Severus would be challenging even in perfect condition, with his own wand – fighting him wandlessly, from a position on his back on the floor, whilst naked and injured – no. He would be defeated any second.

Harry leapt between them, the yellowish spell – a less pleasant variant of the full body bind – that Snape had fired in Tom’s direction bounced off Harry’s level two bubble shield. Tom felt a momentary pang of..something.. that the boy had retained the information and was now using it in his defense.   
It was almost immediately drowned in the wave of irritation that the only spells the boy knew were entirely inadequate to withstand the curses that the potions master was capable of employing.  
And indeed, this was illustrated moments later when Severus fired an innocuously pale pink spell at harry that sailed easily through the boy’s shield as if it were air and laid him out cold on the floor.

Tom swallowed and readied himself for the inevitable pain. The black robed wizard whose wand was trained with steady hand upon Tom’s own prone form was nearly bristling with rage.   
Surprisingly, instead of cursing him, the beak nosed man stepped closer, his slow measured movements both graceful and controlled. 

“Albus believes-“ he began in a low growl in which the true dimensions of his anger could be heard “-foolishly – that you are worthy of a second chance. He believes..that you cannot have been a danger at so young an age, merely because he never caught you until you were older.”

Severus was now only a couple of metres away and Tom found he suddenly felt incongruously exposed. A show of vulnerability and plea for mercy would not have any effect upon this man however. There was no point in even trying to play the role. He hardened his eyes and let the emotion slip from his face. It was a relief somehow even as he saw the smug sneer twist the ugly man’s face at having his own impression of Tom confirmed.

“What did you do to Potter?” he demanded in a softly threatening voice.

Tom remained silent. True.. he knew that he should at least attempt to manufacture some plausible answer to try to persuade Snape to allow him to continue as he had been – but it seemed a waste of effort. The wizard he was dealing with at present would not be susceptible to charm, to pity, to appeals for help. He would not be gullible enough to believe a lie that flattered his ego – he would likely not believe anything that passed between Tom’s lips. The game was up. All of his machinations would be uncovered and reversed.   
Knowing this, there was no point in cooperating any more than was absolutely necessary.

“Answer me...Riddle..”

It was the derision... the satisfaction.. in Snapes voice that really burned. Tom turned his head away, glowering at the wall impotently.  
But was he truly impotent? He could not duel the man and win in his present state, that much was certain – but that did not mean that there were not other weapons available to him.. unintentionally gifted to him in fact, by his other self.  
He turned back to the wizard now towering over him with a small sly smirk twisting one corner of his mouth. To his delight the smug superiority on Snape’s face flickered for a moment into wariness and his hand tensed on his wand.

There was no spell faster than thought however and it required only a thought to set the two dark marks in the room to frenzied burning. 

Snape gasped and then, joy of joys, glared furiously. The fury was directed at himself for being foolish enough to forget how his mark had once before activated in Tom’s presence.

“You!.. I knew it.” he gritted between clenched teeth, drawing his arm back in preparation to curse him”

“You should stop.” Tom informed him quickly. 

To his delight, Severus paused. “I am afraid I have an urgent engagement elsewhere. Do try to be economical in your explanation for why I should allow you to continue breathing to poison all those around you?”

Tom allowed his smirk to widen slowly and pushed himself up to sit, without removing his eyes from the man above. Snape’s wand did not shake in the slightest. The man wielded it left handedly – idly Tom wondered whether his dark mark was on his left or his right arm.  
“By all means” he agreed obligingly. “You should stop because you are going to require my assistance to obliviate the memory of this little misadventure before you visit my other self.”

He thought Snape might burst a blood vessel in his head from the way his dark eyes bulged as he snarled.

“You care for Draco, do you not?” he asked lightly, interceding before the man could vent his spleen in curse form. 

Snape’s eyes widened still further. Tom tilted his head questioningly and began to pick himself up carefully from the floor. Astoundingly Snape moved back a step or two and allowed it.

“Go on. Pray, do tell why I might wish to allow a fourth year to destroy a portion of my mind”   
It was a thin veneer over the concern the man was evidently feeling. Tom took in his ruse in a glance. Obviously the marks caused pain when they were not answered at once. Draco’s face had tightened too, even in sleep. 

“Thank you” he nodded appreciatively, smiling back at the potions master and half turning, pacing slowly and cautiously to the wardrobe, as he made a silent catalogue of the aches and irregularities still remaining since he had interrupted the wizard in the process of casting healing charms.   
“It seems simple enough to me. You were intensely bothered by the thought of Draco coming to harm... it disturbed you to see him in my bed..and still more to learn that he is now my counterpart’s...” he hesitated. To call Draco a whore would be unnecessarily inflammatory, he decided. To call him a consort would only make the other man doubt everything he said from that point on. “...current amusement.. shall we say?” he ventured lightly and saw that it was accepted well enough by Snape for him to go on.

“I have activated his mark also, you know. Your Lord will be expecting both of you to attend upon him directly. What do you think might occur if Draco does not join you when you finally succumb to the pain and go to him?”

Snape shifted slightly. It was barely perceptible how his eyes flickered as he considered the situation.

Tom allowed himself the luxury of turning his back on the dangerous wizard as he retrieved from the wardrobe underwear and trousers.  
“You are perhaps wondering if you might somehow wake Draco, interrogate his memories and then obliviate them before you apparate to Him?” He slipped the boxer shorts on without turning.  
“Draco will not wake, however. Lord Voldemort is the only one capable of undoing the particular spell upon him.” Tom glanced over his shoulder to find that Snape’s wand had slipped down slightly and the man himself seemed perturbed.  
“I do not know the countercharm to wake him” he lied smoothly. “Draco only told me the word to say in Parsel to place him in this state. No amount of force, coercion or mind control can therefore persuade me to undo it for you. My older self was possessed of some degree of foresight, it seems.”

Snape’s hand dropped fully and he turned away, his eyes passing over Draco and lingering before shifting then to Harry and hardening once more. His wand rose once again and with a darker, more ruthless voice he clarified “I should have acted the moment Albus restored you. Draco’s condition rests therefore upon my head. Perhaps while he is in stasis, a way might be found to repair what you have done. However, Draco’s life is..unfortunately... irrelevant.” Snape grimaced before it transformed into a snarl as his eyes narrowed. “I cannot allow you to continue to poison Potter’s mind. Whatever should occur when I go to the dark Lord I will be satisfied in the knowledge that there remains less of his rotting soul for Potter to destroy.”

Tom’s eyes widened and he took a step backward, realising suddenly that he had made an error. It had not occurred to him that Snape might place anything before his own survival. The man was a Slytherin! He had always seemed disparaging when speaking of or to Harry. Draco had seemed to be of more importance to him.  
He should have approached the matter in another manner – should have begun with a very different rationale.

“Wait!” he tried. He could see that it wasn’t going to work this time. “Please, Listen!”  
He wanted to tell him that he hadn’t harmed Harry – that he wouldn’t harm Harry. He had held the boy’s life within his hand and had chosen not to kill him. He hadn’t hurt any of them! Not Harry, not Draco, not-

Hermione!

HermioneHermioneHermione! His heart sang! His Hermione. He could feel her! She was here. She was behind him and to the right – in the bathroom. Snape had obviously not noticed her in his fixation. The door had not been closed. Perhaps she was disillusioned. No.. he remembered abruptly that he had removed her ability to perform magic for the time being. She could not be disillusioned – she would be unable to cast the charm. She would be unable to cast any spell. She could not help him unless..

He focused and restored her magic, hoping she would somehow realise.. and choose to help him.

“Avada Kedavra!-“

“Somnus!”

Tom flinched as a spell hit him and the world seemed to pale abruptly. He crumpled to the floor as everything unravelled.

 

“Welcome back, Mr Riddle”

At the voice, Tom stirred, struggling groggily into consciousness from the comforting oblivion in which he had floated previously. Eyes still closed and crusted from sleep, his mind turned itself to the task of analysing the words that had roused him.

Who?

After a minor lag the answer presented itself.   
Dumbledore. 

An old, weary and disappointed Dumbledore, to be precise. 

He opened his eyes.

The dark grey blocks swimming into focus overhead did not in any way resemble the ceiling in the head boy and girls quarters.  
Turning his head he found a wall of dark grey blocks and one elderly wizard resting on a straight backed chair and gazing down at him in an ominously regretful fashion.

“Where are we” he started to say but his throat was dry and sore and the sound emitted was a bare rasp. 

Dumbledore, surprisingly enough, moved to retrieve a tall glass of water and offered it to him.   
He was not bound! Astounded and wrong footed, he shuffled himself up onto his elbows and accepted the drink with a grateful expression.  
It was cool and refreshing. It wasn’t until he was halfway through that the possibility of potions occurred to him like a cork bobbing up to the surface of water. 

“A targeted befuddlement charm. I am sorry Tom, but I rather suspected that you would not willingly drink.”

He narrowed his eyes at the hated former teacher. “What did you do?! What was in the water?!”

Dumbledore smiled wanly. “A potion that was created after your time. It will not harm you, don’t despair. Although I did not want to resort to this, I must unhappily acknowledge that Severus may have been.. right..in his immediate response when I told him of you. More reasonable and balanced than I myself, at least.”   
The old wizard sighed.   
“It is my own fault of course. I have always found it such a tragic waste, that one so intelligent.. so gifted..would throw everything aside to such a vicious, repulsive and, above all pointless end. I have given you so many chances to change your path over the years. In every instance I have been disappointed. As I am now.”

Tom blinked, a tiny queasy uncertain feeling squirming in the pit of his stomach.   
It made him feel unsure of himself. Everything he had done had been right, hadn’t it? He had thought every step out as he went – each was rational and justified. The fact that he had been caught seemed to suggest that he had miscalculated somewhere along the way, but that did not invalidate the logic of every previous step.   
“I’m sorry” he lied easily.

Dumbledore only looked more disappointed.   
“I wish that were true, Tom. More than you know, I wish you were capable of regretting your actions toward others. What spells have you used upon Harry Potter?”

He wanted to say “none” but found himself listing spells, unable to stop once he’d started. Reddening, he realised the purpose of the potion he had been tricked into consuming.

When he had finished, Dumbledore looked mildly confused.  
“Is that all? You have not used magic upon Harry in any other way?”

“Yes. No.” he confirmed at once before he could bite down on his answer. 

“How have you gained Harry’s loyalty then? Why is he so adamantly defending you?”

Tom flushed in unwilling pleasure. Harry was still trying to save him then? But that he did not want to talk about with the old goat. His mouth already opening, he did the only thing he could think of. He answered the question in Parseltongue.  
“I seduced him and I taught him some basic defense spells. I don’t know.”

The soft sibilant hisses faded away, leaving him facing Professor Dumbledore’s expression of mild consternation. He would present that face whenever Tom had answered a question in class in a way that, while technically completely correct, was not entirely ethical.

“Could you please repeat that in english, Tom” the old man tried. 

It was a nice try, Tom thought, beginning to get a feel for the limitations on this particular potion.  
“Yes, I could, but I don’t want to.” He answered succinctly.

“What is the english translation of the last words you spoke in Parseltongue?” was the immediate and pointed response.  
Tom gritted his teeth but found himself answering the question even so. 

Dumbledore frowned at his answer and leaned back in the chair, allowing his eyes to slide to the wall in thought. When they drifted back, there was a tentative hope and a gentle curiosity in them, as if he were conducting experiments and awaiting the results of the next one.

“What are your feelings toward Harry, Tom?” he asked quietly.

Tom bit down on his own tongue hard and covered his mouth with both hands. Wide eyed, he shook his head at the old bastard.

“Take your time” Dumbledore offered generously, a repugnant little twinkle in his eye. “I expect it is a difficult topic for you.”

He held out as long as he could, while the feeling got worse and worse and the words seemed to want to burst out of him like steam escaping a boiling kettle. Finally he couldn’t hold on any longer.  
“Lust! Fascination! Disdain! Curiosity.. affection.. excitement.. suspicion.. infuriation.. pride.. possessiveness.. protectiveness.. ...” He clamped his mouth shut desperately, trying to hold in the last word that wanted to escape. Dumbledore watched him amiably, a disconcerting smile on his face.   
“Fear!” he spat angrily. 

Bushy grey eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you afraid of, or afraid for Harry?”

Tom narrowed his eyes and looked away. “Both” he muttered in disgust at himself. “I am going to kill you one day, you old goat. I am going to watch you scream and writhe and die!”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes.. perhaps, Tom. But I have heard you promise it so many times in the past that I am beginning to view it almost as a form of affection. Have you learned of a prophesy regarding yourself and Harry?”

“yes.”

Dumbledore brightened still further, looking surprised. “Yes? And what do you know of this prophesy?”

Tom told him.


	16. Chapter 16

Eleven steps.

Turn. 

Pause.

Twelve steps to the wall with the door – a forbidding handleless iron portal that did not bear so much as a shuttered slit in its surface.

Turn. 

Eleven steps to the stone wall with the chipped third row block and the yellowing mortar in the top left corner.

Turn.

Eight steps to the wall with the scratches on the stones around head height.  
It continued to irritate Tom that the dimensions of the room were irregular while to all intents and purposes the room appeared to be perfectly square.   
It was impossible to determine – and quite irrelevant - whether it was an extension charm that had been applied to the space at some point in the past or perhaps just a strange effect of the area – like many rooms within Hogwarts, he had noticed.   
Of course, he could not even say with certainty that he was still within the castle. It was possible that he was in some cell in the ministry of magic.. or even Azkaban – though he doubted the latter. The atmosphere within the small barren room was inhospitable but it did not evoke blinding despair, as Azkaban’s quarters were reputed to do.

Dumbledore had left quite a long time ago. 

He paced aimlessly, wondering how long it had been now. Several hours at least.. although since the matt yellowy light never changed within the room and, as he had since been left undisturbed in this nearly featureless little cage, it was difficult to keep track of time. His body was not yet used to food or sleep and their absence did not register in regular intervals.

Vacillating between vague worry and irritated boredom, he had taken to walking slowly around the perimeter of the room, simply to fill the time and keep himself occupied. It was doing little to quell the restlessness within him – his thoughts were too agitated to allow him to rest.

He couldn’t feel his magic.  
More precisely – he couldn’t sense any magic at all. The worst had come to pass. Dumbledore had wrung everything out of him. Their ‘discussion’ had gone on for interminable hours - the old bastard insisting not only upon extracting details of the events that had occurred since Tom had been released from his paper prison, but delving into emotions that he had felt.. motivations.. reactions.. sensations.   
It was inhuman to have his face pushed unceremoniously into the steaming pile of weakness that he had not wished to acknowledge lay within him.  
And to have to expose himself so in front of that irrepressible, twinkling-eyed son of a..

No.

No.. He could not have this. This was not how he had intended things to proceed. This ..this.. shame..could not be endured.   
Tom felt more rage than he could ever recall feeling before in his life.. and he had thought nothing could supersede the fury he’d felt when he realised his other self intended to leave him to rot in the diary.

It was all that thrice damned mudblood’s fault!! 

The thought of the witch, so close to the thought of his diary prison was inconvenient. At this time he did not wish to have to remember that Hermione had been instrumental – vital in fact – in bringing about his release.  
That did not matter! She was responsible for his current incarceration; for the loss of his magic!!   
The filthy blooded little animal had had the chance to save him and to restore all to a pleasant state of status quo and she had chosen to inapacitate him and allow all of his actions to be revealed.   
She had betrayed him!!   
After he had been so generous; had not hurt her; had not simply taken her...

At the first available opportunity, Hermione would receive a suitable recompense! Tom would delight in watching her suffer. If he ever regained the ability to do magic, at the very least the little witch would be an incoherently ranting squib for the rest of her natural life.

Unfortunately it did not seem that Dumbledore was positively disposed to the idea of releasing him from whatever spell, ward or potion was currently suppressing his magic. 

For a while, it had seemed that he would release it. The old man had tried at length to persuade him to rouse Draco from his sleep and undo the brandings that were placed upon him (not that Tom was entirely certain how to begin to achieve that.); quell the burning of the dark marks, or, if he was not willing to help the potions master, then at least to still the painful tug of the mark upon the unconscious blonde.   
Tom had agreed too quickly, thinking only that any opportunity to regain his magic would immediately allow him to exact revenge upon Hermione.   
Obviously Dumbledore had seen that possibility too.   
When he refused to agree to remove his spells from her; when he refused to even promise not to harm her in this instance if his magic were freed, Dumbledore had become disappointed and introspective once more. He had sat and thought for a long while, pale blue eyes flickering over Tom in a way that made his wand hand itch,

After Dumbledore had left, Tom had watched, irritated, as every piece of furniture in the room dissolved slowly into vapour and vanished, last of all the bed. It left him with nothing but an empty stone box and the clothing that he stood in.  
And he was glad that that had remained.

Over the hours since, he had berated himself constantly for his handling of Dumbledore’s interrogation and negotiation.   
Reluctantly, he was coming to see that decades spent entirely alone had...perhaps... left him less than adequately equipped to deal with complex social exchanges. While he could dismantle wards, construct spells, unravel interrelations between charms and direct magic quite adequately without a wand, he was clumsy in his dealings with others and unpracticed in regulating the emotions and..yes.. hormones and chemical reactions.. that came with human interaction.   
He had been irrational in his approach to the mudblood.. unreasonable in his management of Draco Malfoy and he did not even want to think about how he had comported himself with regard to his ‘enemy’ – the boy prophesised to vanquish him. He had held Harry Potter’s life in his hands and had chosen, for quite inane reasons, to spare it! 

If he were ever confronted with his other self, he would no doubt find himself hanging from his thumbs, in short order, screaming in torment as the wizard exercised his more than justified frustration upon him.

He wondered what was to become of him now. Would he be released back into the comfortable head boy’s room?.. would he remain here in this cell until Dumbledore had extracted every particle of use from him?   
Was it possible that the old wizard might know some way to return him to the diary?  
He didn’t ...think... that his former teacher would kill him. No.. it wasn’t Dumbledore’s style, somehow.  
Snape now... Yes.. Snape would kill him without a second thought. He could see it in the man’s eyes when he had held him at wandpoint.  
Would Dumbledore allow that?   
Probably not.   
Surely not.

Tom swallowed and paused in his slow circuit of the cell, turning and leaning his back against the wall, abruptly reaching the thin knife-edge of despair.  
What had Dumbledore expected of him?!   
He had kept him in a cage – thrust a pretty (yes. She was. Despite her dirty blood and absolute aversion to him) witch into his face and left him to his own devices.   
Was he supposed to ignore her? Read books in his room?   
She had rejected his affections. Should he have swallowed that slight without demur? The spells he had used upon her had been relatively innocuous and as for the oath – she had taken that burden upon herself through her own lack of foresight. He couldn’t be blamed for capitalising upon it.  
Then Harry and Draco had placed themselves in his path and, lacking the merest attention of the mudblood witch – could he be blamed for seeking it elsewhere? Any harm that had come to Draco had not been delivered by Tom’s hand.  
Well.. Ok.. perhaps in a manner of speaking it had – but in a practical sense – he had not harmed the other boy. Draco had pleaded with him for affection.  
Fine. The second time they had met, Draco had pleaded with him for affection. 

Tom scowled at the flagstones in the centre of the room pensively. 

He hadn’t sought Draco out – the boy had broken into his rooms of his own device.   
He had...hardly.. forced him. Much. Draco had been hard – he had wanted it. After a very short while he had been hard at least. And then he had nearly raped Tom himself.   
Draco did not merit the generosity and affection that had been bestowed upon him. Tom certainly did not need to concern himself with the possible repercussions of returning him to his other self. Draco would receive whatever he deserved. His other self would examine his memories judiciously no doubt, assuming that Dumbledore allowed his return and did not simply keep him here, despite the damage to the boy’s body and mind that would result from ignoring the summons of the mark indefinitely.

And as for the fact that he had been attempting to find a way to escape his prison. Was that entirely unreasonable?! He was told nothing of the circumstances in the world he now found himself and every person around him in his little gilded cage openly despised, feared or pitied him. Any halfway intelligent being would be quietly seeking a way out – if only as an option, should circumstances change.

Circumstances had quite apparently changed now. 

He had failed in his plan to escape because he was too distracted by his own hormones. In all likelihood this had been Dumbledore’s intention in placing the mudblood with him.   
This thought dragged an even less pleasant one after it.  
Dumbledore had anticipated his behaviour more accurately than Tom had himself.

He slid down the wall to the floor and rested his arms on his bent knees, tipping over the edge into morose despair.

He had never really considered Dumbledore superior to him. Not even upon his first meeting with the infuriating, apparently colourblind, wizard. Rather, he had thought of his former teacher with dismissive derision. Dumbledore had been an irritation, an inconvenient obstacle, but never a truly formidable threat. 

He had been a child when he had last encountered the man. He had viewed the world through the lens of childish self-absorption.   
Of course he himself would prevail. Naturally he would become the most powerful wizard in the world – he would never die. He would never fail! His enemies would fall before his wand until there remained none who opposed him. He was far more intelligent than everyone around him – especially the bumbling fool who taught transfiguration. The man dressed like a clown and taught the most nonsensical things. Who would ever need to transfigure a raven into a writing desk?! What peculiar circumstance would have to occur before one found oneself desperately in need of a writing desk and possessed of nothing whatsoever but a wand and a raven?!!

Now, he was forced to see that his thinking had been – and probably still was – flawed, and that Dumbledore truly held absolute power over Tom’s own existence.  
The freedom and comfort offered when he had been restored from the diary had been misleading.   
In his false sense of security, he had thought the man incompetent and naive – incapable of extracting the information he wanted and lax in his application of control. But obviously he had held the power to interrogate Tom thoroughly whenever he saw fit, and he had set quite considerable security around him – security which his own half articulated escape plans would have not stood against. Had he had the chance to break free of his rooms, he would have been felled in the corridors ...or worse.   
Knowing far more about the fortifications, his other self had stated in his letter that he did not see any way for Tom himself to breach them without assistance.   
He was probably right.

A crack startled him and he glanced up quickly toward the door where, on its reverse side, unseen locks were being ponderously retracted.

He considered standing, if only to preserve the impression that he was little affected by his current predicament, but really – what use would it be?! 

The door opened ponderously, revealing the tip of a wand before anything else became visible in the murk beyond.

Seconds passed with the ebony shaft hovering, wavering slightly, before a tall dour form slipped through the doorway with odd clumsiness, quickly closing the door behind itself as if Tom might leap up with preternatural speed and insinuate himself through the gap at a moment’s notice.   
Tom’s stomach dropped.   
Snape. And Dumbledore was not with him.   
Had it been decided that he was to die?!  
Why else would this man be here alone?!   
Perhaps Dumbledore did not know he was here? No. Foolish. He had underestimated the man the entire time he had known him. No one would reach him unless Dumbledore had sanctioned it. 

He looked up at the sallow faced wizard with trepidation as the man swayed slightly and drew his wand.   
Was he drunk?! His eyes were strangely glazed as he narrowed them upon Tom.   
Had he perhaps truly managed to get into the cell without Dumbledore’s knowledge? Was he here to finish what Hermione prevented in their last encounter.  
A smooth black wand was levelled somewhat unsteadily upon Tom. He looked up at the looming figure with cornered aversiveness.

“Im..periuss” Snape slurred with something that might have been a skewed sneer.

Tom went rigid under the sudden unexpected onslaught against his mind. It felt like a soft warm comforting blanket were slowly but inexorably smothering him from within.   
It felt like drowning.   
A seductive pressure was drawing him down into cotton wool and the feeling of security. Fighting that security was almost impossible. It was insidious, infecting his rational thought.   
He knew with certainty that nothing in the world would feel better or make him happier than giving in to the sensation; the urge to let himself simply float on the current of Snape’s will.   
It was almost impossible to resist.. to remember what was actually happening. 

“Yes. Give in... you little demon! Let go.. of all those cares... I’ll take them all away...”   
The bitter, vicious, twist on the man’s face was presently quite meaningless to Tom, struggling as he was to recall why he needed to fight against this pleasant feeling.

In response to his continued resistance, Snape focused more, his blunted expression sharpening slightly and his voice losing some of its slur dropping to a low velvety register.  
“Calm yourself... Doesn’t it feel..good.. So..relaxing... Just enjoy it.. Everything is being taken care of by others. There’s nothing with which you need concern yourself.”

Tom furrowed his brow in irritated confusion. He wanted to listen. It seemed that Snape was speaking the truth. 

“I am..extremely skilled.. with this spell, Mr Riddle” Snape purred soothingly. “You are quite safe... Everything will be wonderful.. I’m sure it must be tiring to worry so needlessly.. so let it go. Put those thoughts from your mind and focus on the feeling.”

With his last thread of resistance Tom held on perversely to the pain and confusion rather than let himself slip into the serene comfort. It hurt to fight against the pleasure. He was exhausting himself swiftly.

“Stop being difficult. You know there is nothing you can do to escape this. It is..inevitable. Why torment yourself? Whether you give in now or later – you will eventually weaken. It would be far wiser to give in sooner and save your strength. And is it so terrible to allow yourself to feel it? It feels....so... good..”

That made a lot of sense.

Tom could feel his body trembling with the exertion of simply retaining focus on the here and now.  
Let go. He should let go. Yes. It would be so much better.. so much wiser to let go now. Everything would be fine if he only let go. He would consider it more fully later. 

He let go of the last bare fingernail grip on his worries.

Slipping down into languid comfort he watched with no particular thoughts either way as the Potions master stepped nearer, a small smirk of satisfaction twisting his lips at the corner.

“Alas, Mr Riddle – no.. I think I shall call you Tom, if only because it would have the Dark Lord foaming at the mouth – No, Tom, there is evidently no substitute for experience.   
Reading about the imperius, as you see, is insufficient to enable one to counter it. I have tried to convey this fundamental truth to Miss Granger at infuriating length. Books will get you only so far.”

Tom nodded back amiably, unsure what he was agreeing to. He wasn’t really certain of much right now, but he did feel absolutely wonderful and one of the things that he was certain about was that he was quite content for this state of affairs to continue.

“Now then.. shall we begin with something simple. Stand.”

Tom floated to his feet, his muscles obeying with strange ease. It felt as if he were not quite restrained by gravity.. as if he were faster, stronger, lighter than normal.

“Very good. Perform a handstand.”

The world inverted itself as he balanced himself on his palms, finding it effortless to retain the position.

“One hand only.” Snape instructed with a low sadistic amusement in his voice. Tom complied. He was required to balance himself upon his fingertips of that hand shortly thereafter. He did fall at that and two of his fingers caused him some pain, but it was quite alright nonetheless and he waited amiably for the next directive from Snape.

The man in question walked carefully backward to the door and performed a complex knock upon it behind him, without averting his gaze from Tom. The cracks and creaks of the locks sounded then and soon enough the door was swinging slowly open on its heavy hinges and Tom watched disinterestedly as Dumbledore entered with a grave expression on his face. He seemed somehow far older than he had been just hours earlier. When he spoke, he sounded hesitant and troubled.

“I wish there were another way, Severus. I suspect that this is the wrong way to solve our problems. He did not seem entirely the boy I remember him once to have been. The things he revealed.. He has shown signs of genuine regard for Harry and even for Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy – if one can overlook his somewhat unfortunate approach to these things. If there were more time..”

“Yes, Albus. And if wishes were horses, beggers would undoubtedly ride. I cannot delay going to Him any longer. The potion’s effects are already weakening. I refuse to sacrifice Draco’s sanity to your incessant need to forgive those who neither deserve it nor appreciate..” Faltering slightly, the potions master, whose eyes had not once flickered from Tom, glared at him as if he had hauled back and spat at him. “Yes.. I realise the hypocrisy, Albus. I.. You know that I...appreciate..” He seemed to shrug the issue off visibly, blinking hard and refocusing like a man struggling to hold himself together under extreme inebriation. “There is no other way – you have said yourself that he refuses to remove the spells.”

The white bearded old wizard sighed heavily.

“Yes. Yes.. I see no other way. We cannot delay further. Miss Granger then, if you would, Severus.”

Snape did not reply but something in his posture shifted minutely. 

“Draco it is, then” Dumbledore sighed with flat cheer. He turned and busied himself at the door, his wand circumscribing a complex shape before the door creaked open a crack. He nudged it further with tiny wandflicks and walked through the gap, returning almost immediately with a limp, floating figure in tow.   
Draco. 

His face was pinched and tight with pain in his artificial sleep, and his fingers twitched in the air in faint muscle spasm. The now clothed form was lowered to the floor before Tom.

“Go to him.” Snape instructed impatiently.

Shakily, Tom climbed to his feet and moved closer to the body on the floor, finally dropping to one knee beside the still form of the larger boy

“Pick up Draco’s arm. Reveal his mark.”

Without hesitation, Tom reached out and took the limb in question, lifting it slightly and gently tugging Draco’s left sleeve up his arm to expose the dark mark. Faintly, his mind delivered the observation that something felt wrong or missing.   
Ignoring it, he placed his hand upon the black lines, feeling them painfully hot against his palm.

Snape twitched slightly at his independent action but recovered and ground out between gritted teeth. “Reveal the messages.”

Blinking muzzily at the strange bubble of cognition that rose up in his mind in response, Tom wondered why on earth he might want to disobey. He had the strangest feeling – a woolly, disconnected sense – that he did not want to do that for some reason. But of course he did. Nothing felt better than letting Snape’s voice make all the decisions for him. 

Softly he hissed ::Reveal:: at Draco.

The lack of any effect whatsoever caused him to stop, mentally derailed, and look up at Snape in passive confusion, waiting for the next instruction.

The man towering above him was grinding his jaw and looking infuriated, as if Tom had done something to offend him.

“As I said, Albus – this will not work without magic.” 

Dumbledore nodded slightly, dismissively and seemed to be waging an internal battle with himself, the emotions flicking, complex and unreadable through his blue eyes. “I know, Severus – I had hoped.. But nevermind. It should not make a difference if your imperius holds.” He sighed finally, wearily and enunciated clearly “Suffering Succotash Puddy Tat.”  
From the expression on the potion master’s face, had he not had to hold his gaze upon Tom, he would have rolled his eyes at Dumbledore’s choice of key-phrase. Tom barely registered it, however – he was too preoccupied with his own internal state.

It was like ecstasy.. 

Closing his eyes, Tom felt his head fall back in pleasure even as he tumbled to the floor in bliss, arching his spine at the most delicious sensation fizzing through his entire body.  
It felt like..sparks.. or bubbles..or..warmth...or..being somewhere one belonged; somewhere one felt in control. It was intoxicating and it suffused every particle of him, elevating his already spell-drunk mind to a state of euphoric excess.  
He groaned and writhed, bathing in the feeling, absent any higher thought whatsoever.

“Enough. Cease this display now. Reveal the messages, you wretched little blemish.”

Even though the feeling had in no way diminished, Tom could not help but hear the repulsed voice issue a new directive and moved to obey at once. It was difficult to force his trembling limbs to comply but he pushed himself up off the floor after only a couple of tries and crawled to the prone blonde once more.

This time when he touched the delicate living image on the boy’s pale forearm, he felt a heady surge of reaction both in his mind and against his hand.

::Reveal:: he hissed softly and the skin beneath his fingertips suddenly prickled in goosebumps before Draco began shaking violently. Tom experienced only a brief flicker of surprise, quickly sublimated beneath the warm blanket covering his mind, when the tow-headed boy on the floor before him began emitting soft pained whimpers. 

Dumbledore seemed to wince and turned his face away.

“Don’t you dare look away!” Snape hissed with vitriol. “Watch. Watch and see what has been done to him, Albus! What is still being done to him. This is... a vertitable drop in the bucket... compared to what They did to him – what I was obliged to do to him. Watch! And remind me again why it is important that Draco remain under His influence.”

The old wizard wilted further. 

“I understand, Severus” he returned weakly. “Really – I do. But you know that there is more at play here than the fate of one boy. You know yourself that Draco would not accept our protection. He has been offered the choices and has chosen this path.”   
Dumbledore appeared to hesitate before adding

“We may need him, Severus. Harry may need him within the Dark Lord’s circle – within the Dark Lord’s..”

“Bed?” Snape finished sourly. 

“I was going to say.. trust.” The white bearded man corrected softly. “but.. I concede that the two locations are perhaps not so very distant from one another. Tom has rarely..” at this he fixed the potions master with a calm, measuring stare “allowed any witch or wizard so close – even in his time as a student here. He has always held himself...aloof... from physical pursuits. For him to choose Draco... for him to share anything with anyone – even his own horcrux – is an anomaly that we cannot ignore, for it may be of benefit to us.

“Sometimes I feel very weary of being counted among ‘us’” Snape muttered. “The clothing.” He added in a decisive tone. Dumbledore wisely did not respond to the first comment and answered only with a wandflick banishing the remainder of Draco’s clothing with the second. It revealed small precise lines of raised flesh in Tom’s flowing script dancing across Draco’s lower abdomen. Both men seemed to waver in faint surprise at the sight.   
Tom found his own eyes drop down in response, and he looked with mild, blunted interest at the flattering artwork on the older boy’s skin. He thought.. He thought he might want to touch it and swayed slightly as the spell tightened around his mind in reaction to his independent will.

“Well.. As tattoos go – Mr Malfoy is at least not disfigured by these.” Dumbledore mumbled in a tone that sounded almost embarrassed. “Can you think of a means of removing them, Severus? I did have Tom describe them in detail – however the reality is somewhat different than I had envisaged. Do you see the way the magic hooks into..” He faltered and glanced apologetically at the other. “Ah. No. Well – take my word for it then. The magic is quite securely anchored into Draco’s own magical core. To remove it would be more harmful to him than its placement.” He stepped closer and drew himself with creaking knees down into a crouch before the naked blonde, tilting his head and peering at the words with a more scrutinizing gaze.   
“I rather suspect that physical means of removal will be ineffective. The text will renew itself. 

“Remove it!” Snape hissed at Tom angrily. “I know you know how, you vicious little...”

Tom felt a sudden horrifying sensation flare to life within him. He had to do something.. He had to do it.. and he didn’t know how.   
It was awful. Directionless urgency. He shifted on his knees anxiously and looked down at the body before him as if it were a puzzle to solve. He.. he didn’t quite know where to begin. Uneasily he raised one hand over Draco, considering a scouring spell. No. it wouldn’t work. Even Dumbledore had just said it.   
He couldn’t think.. too much wool in the way of his mind; He couldn’t figure out the problem like this. It would drive him mad. 

“He does not, Severus. I questioned him quite thoroughly. He knows only how to cast the incantation to place new text. I can quite understand why Voldemort would have chosen to omit telling him about the counterspell. Perhaps we can place more text that will achieve the same result as removing this. 

The Potion Master’s silence had a rather heavy, angry resonance to it. Finally, just as Tom had returned his fingertips to Draco’s mark and was prepared to start trying random parseltongue commands, Snape spat, disgusted, “Disregard the last order.”

Relieved, Tom relaxed back down and let his fingertips simply rest on the burning skin of the tattoo. It felt good to touch it. He stroked it slightly before the imperius blurred his will and stopped the unconscious movement.

Dumbledore seemed to be thinking. His gnarled old fingers played restlessly with the end of his beard as he crouched on the far side of Draco’s body glancing between the blonde and Tom himself. Abruptly he seemed to come to some decision and stood with far more flexibility and ease than should have been possible for a man of his advanced years. “I must retrieve something, Severus. Something I believe may be of help in removing Mr Malfoy’s new adornments. I shan’t be long.” He whirled in place and with a brief glance to Snape, was gone with apparent haste, the door closing with a dull thud behind him.

In the void of his balancing presence, the air in the cell seemed to shift and heat slightly while Snape glared at Tom and Tom stared down at Draco’s dark mark. 

Silence stretched on for almost a minute, precarious and pendulous before the potions master apparently reached a decision.

“Revive him” Snape demanded quietly. 

Tom blinked and glanced up questioningly. Black eyes bored into him with deadly resolve. “Revive him, I said.” Snape hissed poisonously.

With a faint, amorphous feeling that this wasn’t something he wanted to do, really – Tom hissed ::awaken::, feeling a subtle twitch in the limb he held that informed him of his success.  
Something inside him flared for just a moment and seemed to rage furiously before drowning once more in the mire of contentment.

Papery pale eyelids flickered slightly and the boy before him on the ground emitted a low, pitiful, groan of pain before turning his head and furrowing his brow, muscles tensing all over his body.

“Get away from him. Go over to the wall” Snape snapped impatiently. “Draco. Draco wake up. There is-”

Silvery eyes tight with hurt snapped open in horror as Draco flew into a sitting position yowling and reeling in sudden agony and bewilderment, before half collapsing back down onto one elbow. “Sev-“ He darted hunted looks all around, taking in his environment, pausing for a second on Tom himself, now kneeling passively in the far corner of the room as far from him as possible, and finally landing, mortified, upon the Potions master standing above him, his own gaze trained unceasingly upon Tom as he held the imperius in place. He became belatedly aware of his own state of undress and covered his genitals with one hand in a manner that seemed bizarrely coy.

“What have you done?! Merlin, Severus – what are you.. Oh fuck, my arm..my ARM!!.. He knows!! He’ll kill me for this.. he’ll... Oh sweet fucking Merlin.. Why did you have to interrupt us?! Why couldn’t you just go away and come back later when we were done?! Do you hate me so much that you’d-“

“Draco!” the older wizard snapped with annoyance. “He does not know. He merely knows that your mark.. our marks have been activated by his.. by Riddle over there. He does not know why or what has happened since we left his presence. Calm yourself now.”

Draco blinked, shaking his head as if he were trying to reconcile conflicting facts within his head. “But... But why are you doing this?! What do you stand to gain from..”

Tom watched the events before him with as much interest as he would have watched the blank wall, had the room been empty. It was happening before him but it was none of his concern somehow. Nothing really concerned him at present. And that was fine.. Perfect in fact. It had..startled..him slightly for a moment as Draco had reacted in agony and fear. The sensation of aversion had only been a momentary interruption in his contentment but it was troubling. He’d wanted it to stop. It had now, it seemed. Draco was more composed, even if he seemed to still be in quite a lot of pain, and glanced at him curiously before his attention was claimed again by the looming bat of a wizard above.

“Draco.. I realise that you cannot but view the world in certain, rather limited, terms, due to the environment you have been immersed in from birth.. the subtle influences of your father...and your friends..” Snape hesitated, drawing a soft breath between his lips and seeming to steel himself to continue. He did a moment later with resolute conviction in his voice. “-but I encourage you to ask yourself whether you are truly content with your current state of servitude. Do you wish to continue to be tortured? ..Raped?... indefinitely?! Do you wish to yourself become a murderer and a rapist?   
Is this the great future that you would have the entire wizarding world subjected to? What will happen when the Dark Lord wins?! What will happen to you?!”   
The older wizard, who had not shifted his eyes from Tom once throughout his little speech, nevertheless looked pained. His concern shone through in his eyes.. wavered in his voice.

Silence held the room in its grip for long seconds. Tom observed vacantly that Draco was shaking. His eyes were fixed on a flagstone beside his knee and betrayed no sign of his thoughts.

“Draco?..” The older wizard questioned uncertainly. “You do not need to face this fate. We... we can help you.. I will help you! You need not ever return to Him. We can..”

“Who is we?” Draco asked softly, his tone dull, as if he did not care what the answer might be.

Snape hesitated again. “You know the answer already, Draco. Feigned ignorance does not suit you.”

“So you really are a traitor then..”   
If Draco’s voice had been empty before, it was very nearly a vacuum now. 

Snape did not answer and Draco turned his head, flicking cool grey eyes up at him challengingly. “Well? Are you? Say it! Admit that you’ve lied to me from the moment I was born.. admit that you’ve deceived my father for decades. Say the words, Severus!”

Snape bristled visibly and thundered back in defense “I have always sought to protect you, Draco. Always! I counselled you not to take the mark although you would not hear me – I tried to protect you from ever learning of the truth about your father and the perversions of that to which he and I had pledged ourselves. You were so.. damned.. eager to see.. eager to taint yourself with the dark.   
I tried to shield you as best I could and you, foolish child that you are, manage to discover and thrust yourself upon the one thing that would irredeemably damn you.   
What in the world possessed you to-“

“You!!!” Draco snarled the word, narrowed eyes cutting the wizard above him to pieces. “It was you, you stupid arsehole! You made it impossible for me to gain any respect from my father or the Dark Lord otherwise. You made me seem weak!! And ridiculous! When Pansy laughingly told me of something she thought was proof that Weasley was losing his feeble little mind, I realised that I had to look into it in case there was some base to it. After father told me of the true events of my second year, I thought there could be other objects similar to the book he’d had.   
I saw my chance to get the Dark Lord’s respect, Severus. And my father’s. And yours!”   
Draco seemed to shrink slightly, as if withdrawing into himself most of the rage that had set him to vibrating and clutched at his arm again, wincing before pulling it protectively against his own chest  
“I didn’t intend to do.. what I did to make him that angry with me.” Draco mumbled. “It was.. it was an accident.”

Tom tilted his head a nearly imperceptible centimetre. Again that small flicker of disturbance in his pleasant peace. It was Draco’s pain. He didn’t like it. It was getting in the way of the soft warm feeling he was floating in. Without thinking, he stilled the blonde’s mark somewhat till the distracting awareness was less than the gentle waves of pleasure.

Draco had bowed his head but now glanced up toward Tom again, an unreadable expression in his eyes.   
“What are you going to do with..” he trailed off uncertainly. “Him”

Tom stared back at them both calmly, faint contentment softening his features.

“Draco..” Snape’s softly exasperated low voice purred. “I did not intend to humiliate you. I regret that you perceived my actions in that manner. But you must see that it would be dangerous for you to return to the Dark Lord now. He will continue to punish you..and to ...use...you. There is little I can do for you there now. Here however, you might finish your education undisturbed by the course of the war. You could undertake an apprenticeship in potions if you would like. You are certainly sufficiently proficient in the subject to succeed if you applied yourself.   
There is.. a potion.. that will allow you to function when the mark burns. We will find a way. I will compel this wretched creature disguised as a boy to subdue your mark as often as necessary until the Dark Lord relents and loses interest in you.  
Do not disdain the offer that is being made to you purely because of the skewed worldview of your father. Surely you have realised by now that Lucius is not the man you have held him up to be?!  
He will hurt you, Draco, if you return. He will seek and almost certainly gain permission from the Dark Lord to do so.   
Would you become your own father’s catamite purely in pursuit of some notion of respect – respect that you must realise he will never give you?!”

The blonde wizard shuddered in irrepressible physical repulsion, closing his eyes again.  
“No. No.. I don’t want that” he whispered tightly.   
He struggled to compose himself again.

“Then will you take the assistance offered you? Remain here. Step aside from the war and allow me to protect you!

Draco stilled as if frozen in time. When he next moved it was only to slide his gaze slowly across the floor back to Tom once again.  
“You’re mad if you think that anyone can just ‘step aside’, Severus. You can’t protect me. And you never answered my question. What is going to happen to the Dark Lord’s horcrux?”

Tom almost wanted to smile for some reason at the soft frustrated huff of the dour crow. He didn’t really know why and the impulse was gone in a fraction of a second.

“I can try. Let me try. It cannot be any worse than your present position.” Snape paused and seemed to compose his thoughts.  
“ ...I do not know what will be done with the horcrux. Dumbledore was still deciding.”

Draco nodded at the first statements summarily though something in his eyes sharpened as if in confirmation as he continued to hold them on Tom. He began to pick himself up from the floor, which made Snape shift slightly, warily.

“You know.. I’m surprised that you can hold him under the imperius..” Draco was musing distractedly as he brushed himself off primly. “He was so much stronger than this..”

Snape sneered and narrowed his eyes at Tom slightly.   
“He has never experienced the unforgiveables – merely used them. He may have been a monster at fourteen but the others of his acquaintance were not quite so prodigious. He did not have any dark wizards or dark-wizards-in-training attempting to place him under the curses – he has only practiced their casting.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully and stepped closer to where Tom knelt passively watching.

“Draco..” Severus cautioned uneasily.

“You know..” Draco started, ignoring the warning but remaining to the side in his movement, not breaking the Potion Master’s line of sight upon the small boy he was holding the curse upon. “You can’t protect me Severus. Only he can. You should have left me with him. You shouldn’t have interrupted. I was doing fine on my own.”   
He had arrived to stand above and to the side of Tom, which meant that Tom could no longer see him, staring straight ahead as he was. The faint flicker of discontentment this caused was easily dispelled by turning his head and looking up at Draco.

“Draco!.. Come away from him now” Snape demanded with sharp urgency and the soft wool surrounding Tom’s mind thickened, making his eyes slip out of focus as he lost interest in external events.  
He barely registered the cool hand that tentatively stroked over his hair.

“He wasn’t at all like the Dark Lord..” Draco murmured, looking down at him with a faint indecision that meant nothing at all to Tom.

“Draco..”   
A more desperate tone crept into the warning this time.   
“Nothing will happen to the ..boy.. Now come.. here.”

“I don’t think I have to do that actually” Draco mused aloud, slipping his hand from the head of the kneeling horcrux to cup his face gently. The searching look he gave him was utterly wasted on Tom.  
“I think you’re too busy trying to hold his mind down to have any attention left to stun me or move me by force. And you’re a liar, by your own admission. Why should I believe anything you tell me?! I think you’re planning to kill him.” He punctuated his words by grazing his thumb feather-lightly over Tom’s bottom lip, grey eyes narrowed speculatively. “...Traitor.”

“You are refusing?!” Snape spat incredulously. “You unbelievably idiotic little waistrel! Draco! Why?! For this.. this.. half-living thing that should not, by rights exist?! Or merely out of contrariness - because I could not endanger you with the truth of my thoughts on the Dark Lord’s agenda?! Or do you truly think his quest noble?! He is a half-blood Draco. Like myself – like Potter, for that matter. Does it not seem the slightest bit odd to you that almost the entire pureblood aristocracy are falling over themselves to bleed for the man?! To what end? Toward a goal that cannot possibly be attained through the means he is choosing to employ in its apparent pursuit?! Think, Draco!! And stop touching that damned boy!! He is responsible for your present position servicing the inner circle. It is his fault that Lucius was able to exercise his own perverse fantasies upon you and his doing that I am forced to know you in a way one should not know one’s godson. Touching that...creature... has made you the Dark Lord’s whore!”

Draco’s hand shook against Tom’s cheek before he removed it, clenching it into a fist and relegating it to his side. He did not turn to look at the other wizard but his eyes burned as he glared at the wall behind Tom.   
Then they cleared again and the tinge of indecision was gone. 

“He wasn’t bad, you know..” Draco said with a quiet amusement in his voice. “He wanted me so urgently that it was flattering.”   
Turning, Draco looked at Snape, leaving Tom to look up at his back.   
This was a slightly less satisfying view. He wanted Draco’s hands back, stroking him and paying attention to him.

“I enjoyed it.”

“Draco...” Snape began uneasily. “Think about this..”

“I’ve thought about it. You wouldn’t believe how many hours i’ve spent thinking about it. Thanks... but no thanks.” He was walking slowly, carefully in Snape’s direction now.   
“I enjoyed it, Severus. Even.. even.. Him.” The blonde shivered visibly. “They were both... good.. He was good – when I got past his..his appearance. I can take it.. if it’s just.. just them. He hurt me less than they did. He won’t let father do it again if I.. if I just..”

Snape, now visible as Tom no longer knelt in Draco’s shadow, paled and looked quite ill. “Draco stop. You cannot get out of this cell. Even I do not know the incantations. Dumbledore will return at any moment. Please reconsider!!”

Tom watched ambivalently as Draco approached the much larger wizard with calm determination. He stared impassively at their brief tousle and then, abruptly, it felt as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from him and his mind sharpened in time to see Draco flung through the air to crash into the opposite wall. Snape was whirling, his wand cutting through the air in urgency to return it to where it had been held upon Tom.   
That wasn’t going to happen!   
Desperation fuelled his magic as he raised every wandless shield he could and threw himself to the side, just in time to evade the white numbing pulse of the imperius spell. It spattered against the wall and dissipated silently. 

Hitting the ground with a soft grunt of impact, Tom was already throwing spells. Severus Snape was a far more formidable opponent than Harry had been however and he waved the first two hexes aside with barely a twitch of his wand, while the third bounced off his shield.   
Tom paused, his hand raised, trying to work out what spell, if any, might be effective against the man. The pause was all Snape needed to launch his own attack, with a narrow-eyed, faintly satisfied expression he drew back and threw, in small economical slashing motions, three dark coloured spells in Tom’s direction.  
He wasn’t certain what the first one was and so rolled quickly, trying to evade it. The second two were definitely not hexes he wanted to be struck with, although they would have been sufficiently repelled by his shield, he was almost certain. 

Still unable to think of a spell he could be certain the other wizard would not be able to counter, he glanced up, righting himself quickly, and found that his evasion maneuver had brought him closer to Draco’s fallen body. He lay a short distance from the wall, crumpled slightly and apparently unconscious. The accio corpus barely took a thought. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as Snape diverted his own hex at the last moment, flicking it instead at the ground several meters to the side of Tom and Draco – who was now splayed bonelessly in a slumped sitting position in front of Tom.   
It was the opportunity that Tom needed.   
A simple expelliarmus and Accio at the precise moment of Snape’s uncertainty and indecision and Tom was holding his opponent’s wand tightly in his left hand. Peering out from beside the silky blond head, his arm around Draco and hand laid flat over the boy’s heart, he mustered the faltering old wizard across the room with a narrow gaze.

“You have disarmed me. You do not need to threaten Draco..” 

Snape’s tone was quiet, careful, with just a hint of beseeching to it. 

Tom snorted, amused.   
“Why would I unnecessarily throw away something that belongs to me? As you say – You are no longer a threat.”   
Toying with the thought of using the wizard’s own wand against him, he discarded it almost immediately. Wands could be loyal. Better to stick to his wandless magic. At least that he knew would work. He incanted the incarcerous and stupefy silently. Snape did not even attempt to move out of the path of the spells and soon became more unconscious furniture in the room.

Tom looked over toward the door.

He could try...

Surely there might be some way out if he looked for one. Somehow. He could at least try.  
But he knew there wouldn’t be.   
He didn’t have to examine the door to know that Dumbledore had somehow keyed it to be opened only by himself. Tom could throw everything he had into it and he still wouldn’t be leaving this room unless it was with the old coot’s permission.

It was disappointing that he couldn’t even manage to work up the enthusiasm to feel frustrated over that anymore.  
For the lack of anything else pressing to do, he cast a diagnostic charm upon Draco and then healed the minor concussion and bruising that his impact with the wall had left. Then with some awkward difficulty, due to the size discrepancy between then, he turned Draco so that the boy’s head could rest in his lap. He was just stroking through the blond hair, straightening it, when the door emitted it’s low cracks once more and Dumbledore bustled in.  
It was amusing to watch the cheer slide off his wrinkled old face into dismay.

To be fair – the dismay was far less than Tom had expected. Perhaps some part of Dumbledore had expected something of this sort to happen. He certainly didn’t appear to be holding whatever it was he had left to retrieve and he recovered quickly when he looked toward Tom and found him cradling Draco’s head protectively. The bright twinkle and grandfatherly smile were back at full volume as if they’d never left. 

“Ah Tom. I see you’ve managed to recover yourself after all. And Mr Malfoy too, it would seem. I do not need to summon assistance to bring Severus to the Infirmary I trust??”   
There was a faintly ominous note to the last.. like sharp rocks hidden beneath the surface of murky water. Tom suspected that Dumbledore would be more than merely disappointed in him if he discovered the potions master to be seriously injured. 

“Just stupified” he reassured quietly. “But please make him understand, when you wake him later.. out of my presence.. that If he ever tries to use that curse on me again – the next time, he won’t be waking up.”

The headmaster nodded grimly.  
“Yes.. I rather suspected you wouldn’t take it well.” He seemed to let the topic go without a second thought “...Mr Malfoy appears calmer. I take it that he is no longer enduring the call.”   
This last remark was, once again, slightly pointed and Dumbledore lowered his head slightly to examine Tom over the rim of his half moon spectacles.

“No. I.. it’s stopped.” Damn Dumbledore if he would make him admit it. Tom hardened his face. “Snape is still being summoned.. I only..” He faltered.

“And Lord Voldemort will have taken close note of the anomalous activation of Draco’s mark, even so.” Dumbledore finished, with a nodding sigh. “Nevertheless – perhaps we might ease Mr Malfoy’s burden somewhat. If the Dark Lord believes that Mr Malfoy was nearly responsible for your escape...”   
The level of twinkling was truly appalling.  
“And if his failure is thought to be due to the information that he unfortunately does not possess, regarding the protections that I have placed around you... That is - Information which Lord Voldemort might have supplied him with, but had not... yet.”

Tom scowled slightly, to cover the uncertainty of his own inner state. Was Dumbledore suggesting...

“I will speak with you later, Tom. Do try to avoid making any further unfortunate choices in the meantime.” The old wizard smiled in a strangely affectionate manner and turned, apparently leaving.

“I..” Tom stopped him, finding himself fascinated with the flagstones at the curly toed boots. Loathing that Dumbledore had always had the power to do that to him somehow, to reduce him to looking away rather than meeting pale blue, knowing, eyes, Tom forced himself to raise his gaze and glare at the old wizard.   
“I still hate you, you know. 

“Oh, I know, Tom. I know. Oh.. That reminds me..”   
With suddenly frightening quickness, Dumbledore’s wand was in his hand and levelled down upon him. He did not even have time to blanch before the spell struck. It had not struck him, however, but the head cradled in his lap.   
Draco didn’t so much as twitch.   
A shiver wound its way irrepressibly up Tom’s spine. It was a strangely enjoyable sensation. He added it to the list of the myriad pleasures of tangible existence that he had forgotten about entirely while trapped in the diary. 

Dumbledore was returning his wand to his sleeve with the look of one examining a job well done.   
“I think that should suffice.” He smiled faintly, whilst turning away once more. 

“Goodbye, Tom” the old wizard’s voice floated back airily as he exited the room through the open door. “And mind the mice..”

Shaking his head slightly, Tom wondered yet again about Dumbledore’s level of mental stability.   
‘People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’ – a voice whispered surreptitiously in the back of his mind. He shrugged it off. He was not unstable. He wasn’t mad.. Dumbledore quite evidently was.  
The dark gap of the partially open door continued to leer at him.  
It wasn’t closing.

He frowned slightly.   
Was the old coot really going to let him just wander out? Was this a test of some kind?

Hesitantly and carefully, he displaced Draco’s head from his lap - It wouldn’t do to damage him after he had bothered to heal him, after all, he told himself – and moved toward the door, fully expecting it to snap shut before him.  
It didn’t.   
It remained as perfectly inert as a large, heavy, well-balanced object could be.  
There was a slight draft from the darkness outside as Tom peered into the murk.

“Dumbledore??” he called softly, hating himself for needing to. “Are you still there?”

Silence. 

Silence and the faint smell of Hogwarts dungeons – the must and mildew of the lake.

Wherever his room had been before – it was clearly located in one of the towers – He hadn’t smelled this scent in.. such a long time. It brought back his memories of.. of before.. He could see the others before his inner eye. Abraxas, constantly preening in front of his gilded mirror. Lester and Jona and Prence and...   
Shaking his head like one fighting off dreams, he pulled back from the memories that wanted to bubble up like an infernal fountain and overwhelm him.   
The door was open and Dumbledore was, apparently, not here. 

His older self had described the protections that were currently in place.   
Surely.. surely – knowing – he might somehow be able to conceive of a way out.

He fervently ignored the tiny, irritating voice in the back of his mind that informed him that Dumbledore wouldn’t have left the door open if he thought that was possible.   
What Dumbledore thought was possible and what was actually, verifiably, able to be done sometimes diverged. Merlin knew, the man had always discounted possibilities that did not meet with his own moral requirements. It had been chief among the reasons why Tom had often been fuming when he had left transfiguration. Dumbledore had sometimes – not often, admittedly, but sometimes – marked him down for some solution which he had not agreed with. More commonly he had given him the marks he deserved but scrawled some pointed remark on the paper. 

There could be a way. He just needed to find it.

Thoughtfully, he turned back to the cell, his eyes sliding across the floor and coming to rest on Draco’s still form.


	17. Chapter 17

He was rather lovely...   
Taking just a moment longer to appreciate the naked, well built, seventh year laid out on the flagstones before his own kneeling form, Tom sighed and reluctantly cast the spell wandlessly.

“Draco, wake up..” He patted the aristocratic face lightly, although it was unnecessary. The enervate would suffice to return the limp blond to consciousness.

True to his breeding, Draco did not emit any undignified little noises as he returned to himself. He barely twitched. Grey eyes opened a cautious millimetre, peering up through blonde lashes before the boy apparently determined that it was safe and opened them fully.

Even then... rather than the flurry of foolish questions that Tom had half expected to flow from between the thin, pale pink lips, Draco merely looked around, his eyes taking in Tom’s appearance and position, kneeling close to him, dressed in a nondescript pair of trousers and shirt; the rough stone walls of a cell around them; taking in his own unclothed state with admirable nonchalance, and finally, drawn by the darker hue on the far side of the room, lifting his head to better interpret what was in fact the splayed body of his unconscious potions teacher and godfather.   
The latter creased the blonde’s brow into a barely-there frown of disturbed confusion.

Tom smirked, amused by the frantic calculation that was no doubt going on behind the silvery grey eyes. Draco would be going over his most recent recollections hurriedly, looking for something that could explain the bizarre circumstances in which he presently found himself. 

‘It would have been nice-‘, Tom thought, ‘if Dumbledore could have at least offered some kind of hint as to what he had done to Draco with the last spell he had cast. Judging by the focus upon the other boy’s head, it would be some manner of memory altering charm – perhaps a variant of the obliviate – but at this stage who knew what the blasted old coot intended to do next.’   
Tom had hardly expected him to open the door and wish him well, after all.   
Dumbledore was batty. Not at all stupid – no, let him never again forget how alert and cunning the old man was – but he was definitely not all there. Everything was a test.. everything was some kind of examination of one’s moral compass.   
Anyone sane knew that there were far...far.. more important things than ‘whether one’s heart was in the right place’.

“You saved me” he offered quietly, hoping that this was vague enough to fit with whatever Draco currently believed had recently occurred.   
“- Thank you, Draco..”

This drew a deeper, even more bemused furrow to the brow of the boy he observed. Draco turned his wide grey eyes back toward him and battled with his own expression, finally triumphing and pasting an opaque confidence back upon his face.  
“I live to serve you, my Lord.”

Tom’s well honed ‘expression of sincerest gratitude’ faded slightly as his smile took on shades of smirk.

“That is indisputably true” he agreed. “Get up. Clothe yourself. I am sure ..Snape.. would not begrudge his godson the very shirt from his back. I will even resize the clothes for you, if you hurry.   
We are leaving..”

Pulling himself to his feet and brushing the nonexistent dust from his trousers, Tom turned his attention to Snape and waved a wandless disrobing charm in Snape’s direction, turning away without bothering to observe its effects and pacing to the door.   
As much as he desired knowledge of all kinds, there were some limits. He had no interest in knowing exactly what the beaky potions master looked like beneath his robes. 

Draco seemed to react the same way, he caught the grimacing aversion of the blonde as he neared the pile of clothes with his face turned almost completely away – as if the sight of the pallid white fishbreast of the other man might burn out his retinas.

“Do I have to wear...everything?” he asked quietly, but with a faint note of horror beneath the words.   
Tom snickered to himself, tempted to oblige Draco to don Snape’s undergarments, however black and overbuttoned they might be.

“Of course not. The clothes are not a punishment, Draco. Merely expedient, unless you would rather roam the corridors without them.”

There was the soft shuffling of dressing behind him. 

He glanced back and smiled in genuine amusement at the sight of the haughty blonde half drowned in baggy black robes. They hung upon his not insignificant frame like a full body chastity belt. So many fiddly little buttons and reinforced layers. The blonde had probably just slipped them on like a nightdress.

“Mordred... what do you look like!” he poked harmlessly. The blonde grimaced and looked down uncomfortably.

It was endearing, Tom thought. But Draco deserved a little more than this.   
He concentrated carefully, raising both hands to add focus and to be certain that he could transfigure only the clothing and not the pretty pureblood within. The robes were imbued with a number of different charms, a great many of which were specifically intended to prevent transfiguration, vanishing or other alteration via magic.   
Draco balked slightly but, to his credit, did not move.  
It was satisfying when the charms eventually gave way and allowed the robes to be transfigured into a vague facsimile of the standard Hogwarts uniform.   
True, it was all one piece of fabric, but it looked close enough to normal to fool an observer.

The occupant of said robes breathed a relieved sigh and looked up at him again with that expression of near awe, as if he were astounded that he had the honour of being in Tom’s presence.

Tom brushed off the warm glow that flared inside him at that admiration and tossed his hand in an upward gesture, conjuring a small witchlight. The pale blue orb bobbled gently in the air above his hand and then stabilised and brightened slightly.   
There would not be any torches outside this room. The space outside the door was illuminated only by the thin yellow rectangular slice of light that fell out through the doorway from within the cell itself.

“Come along now” he said quietly. “We will no doubt meet with difficulties on the way. Remain behind me for now and try not to get in the way should anything unexpected occur. Without your wand, you are more liability than asset.

His words caused the silvery grey eyes to fall once again to the floor despondently. Pursing his lips, Tom paused, experiencing an odd feeling of regret. He...didn’t intend to deride Draco as useless. He certainly wasn’t useless. He had recently proven extraordinarily useful on several fronts. Nevertheless, there really was no time to soothe Draco’s ego at present and he told himself that he was a sot for even considering the merits of doing so. His doubts thus assuaged, Tom turned away from the subdued blonde and set off into the darkness.

 

The dark and shadowy corridor outside the cell was vaguely familiar. Tom thought, to judge by their surroundings, that he had a reasonable idea of where this corridor might be located in the castle.  
Not that that necessarily helped. Although he had spent the first few years in the diary wandering aimlessly around the limited world in which he was imprisoned, and although that world had been charted in far more detail than Tom himself had expected – far more detail than he had himself written into the diary when he had been constructing it - he had not actually spent much time in the third sub level of the dungeons after those initial wanderings.   
There was, after all, nothing at all of interest down here. It was a storage area for old desks, carpets and lecterns. It had been a dusty, boring place and its atmosphere of disuse and abandonment had been disturbingly metaphoric for Tom as he perused it. He thought of himself.. a book on a shelf, hidden somewhere; Forgotten; Broken and never to be reanimated. A thing without purpose. 

He had never run across cells down here when he was wandering. He didn’t think Hogwarts dungeons had ever been used as ...dungeons..as such. At least.. he wasn’t aware of their ever being put to that purpose in any of the history books he had consumed.   
Perhaps Dumbledore had had the castle create this cell specifically for him?

That was almost flattering.

The corridor they were following joined with an almost identical adjacent one ahead. There were no portraits on the walls down here. No decoration at all. The walls were featureless, windowless, torchless. Floors and ceilings were identical flagstone surfaces; turquoise in the pale nimbus of his witchlight, fading out to sheer black only metres ahead.   
It had something barren and desolate to it. Like the abyssal depths of the oceans. The air was thicker.. ranker... It smelled of must and damp. 

“It’s... this way, I think” he half whispered to Draco, who was following with admirable stealth two paces behind him, before setting off counter-intuitively down the left corridor direction, which sloped slightly downhill.

“Are..are you sure?” Draco whispered back uneasily. 

Tom did not dignify this with a response. It was fortunate for Draco that he was still languishing in Tom’s favour for the loyalty he had showed, or else he might have bothered to attend to this mild slight.

The air seemed to become colder by the step as they padded on quietly through the dark depths. Tom could see his breath in front of his face.

“Something is up ahead” he murmured under his breath, stopping and glancing back, to make sure that Draco was still with him and had caught what he had said.   
The wide eyed misery on the blonde’s face was unmistakeable. Draco was wishing quite vehemently that he was elsewhere.

“Should we go back” he whispered at Tom – although the undertone he gave it essentially conveyed “I want to go back!!”

Tom smiled thinly.   
“If my memory serves me – the other corridor leads to a rather cluttered hexagonal foyer area with several other corridors leading away from it and a narrow staircase that connects it to another storage room in the second sub level. This corridor leads, after a fashion, to an entrance to an underground aquifer which feeds into the black lake some distance outside of Hogwarts wards. It is a remnant of the days in which castles of this type were built to withstand sieges. It is also possibly a route out of the castle which Dumbledore might have disregarded.”

This information did not seem to reassure Draco at all. The boy looked positively petrified now.   
“I don’t have my wand! I... Surely there must be another way out! Why can’t we just walk?!”

Tom raised an eyebrow in the half-light. “I don’t know what Dumbledore has placed in the way of protections in the upper corridors. I am sure there will be wards and obstacles to prevent me from getting near students or out onto the grounds. Possibly these wards might extend down here...” He paused, uncertain at this new thought. What if the supposedly lethal wards at the outer perimeter of Hogwarts could affect him even deep underground...underwater...

Well.. what other option was there?!   
He could turn around and march in a generally upward direction until a ward barrier knocked him out. Draco would probably try to carry him and possibly might manage to drag him outside, where further wards would promptly render him a dead, rather than a merely unconscious, body. Draco would likely not even realise this until he arrived at his destination – at which point he too would die when Tom’s other self realised what had happened.

That was not a promising alternative. 

...He could try to get to one of the entrances to Salazar’s chamber. Within, none of the wards could affect him and Dumbledore himself would be hard pressed to reach him.  
Harry had been in the chamber though. He’d killed the basilisk. He could bring Dumbledore down there.  
And even if there were a way to secure the chamber from within against entry – not that Tom had ever happened across such a thing – there was no food within the chamber. Tom was already finding himself slightly uncomfortable in the region of his abdomen and he suspected it might be hunger. He had not eaten the previous day, what with all of the distractions.

He could give up...

That thought grated against him though. He couldn’t just...give up.. That would be tantamount to giving himself over to Dumbledore’s will; accepting that the old man had beaten him, even with a free shot at escape. What would follow? “Tom.. I’m so glad to see you made the right choice. Now.. if you could see your way clear to restoring Miss Granger to her previous, unbound state – we might see whether we cannot give you another chance within a more comfortable manner of cell. Of course you will not be able to have the freedoms that you have unfortunately abused, but if you show good behaviour, perhaps you may be able to grovel your way back to the same paltry distractions you were given before.”

Tom glared at the dark corridor ahead. 

“You may go back, if you wish, Draco. I doubt that you will be wandering down here for too long. In all likelihood you would stumble across the stairs up to the second sublevel in the dark eventually and from there, it would only be a matter of following one wall until it led to another staircase somewhere and you would be in the torchlit corridors that you know once more. ...Even if you became truly lost down here in the dark - Dumbledore would send someone after you before you expired of dehydration...probably.”

He could actually hear the boy behind him swallow thickly as he considered the idea of wandering around wandless..in the dark, unfamiliar corridors...alone until he collapsed and died.

“N-no...It’s alright. I won’t leave you” Draco answered weakly.

“Well then. I’m glad we resolved your uncertainty. Shall we see what exactly is lying in wait for us further down this corridor?” 

He didn’t bother to wait for a response, but stalked carefully on. 

There was a faint...scratching.. or...tapping.. somewhere ahead.   
Cautiously, Tom summoned the witchlight down and cupped it in his hand, covering all but the minimum light he required to navigate. If he could have, he would have extinguished it completely and used a spell to enhance his vision – but such spells were only of use if there was a minimum of ambient light. In total darkness, such as might be found in sealed stone corridors deep within the earth, they were worthless. A hand of glory would be a fine thing to have, however he had not run across one conveniently lying about since his restoration from the diary and certainly hadn’t had the opportunity to visit Knockturn Alley to shop for obscure dark artefacts that could come in handy under unlikely circumstances.

“What is –“

“Shh-“ he hushed quickly.

The tapping stopped.

Tom held his breath and strained to hear.

When the silence stretched on to the point that he could feel his own hairs standing up on the back of his neck, he risked a spell.

“Animalis revelio” he thought clearly, directing the spray ahead.

The darkness remained unbroken. Tom frowned. The spell to detect a lifeform, should have picked something up, whether human or animal. Perhaps the source of the sound was obscured behind some unseen object?!

After a while, the scratching sound started again.   
Tom startled at the sudden brush of something against his leg and turned, only to find that Draco had inched so close to him that he was practically wearing the larger boy like a cloak.   
He glared, but this served only to persuade the boy to edge back a few inches.   
Draco apparently did not do well in the dark.

“What is it?!” he mouthed soundlessly, looking panicked.

Tom rolled his eyes and turned back to face the scratching.. and now tapping again..  
His mind was conjuring up images of something blind and perhaps partially amphibious that had been living down here undisturbed for decades, if not centuries. Something that had grown large and fat on the creatures that wandered, overcurious, down the channel from the black lake.. Something that existed here entirely without natural predators.

Something that was feeling its slow way forward, white and hideous, clawed and toothed and navigating purely by scent. Salty sweat and human breath likely didn’t waft down these corridors often.

Tom cursed silently. He was unsettling himself now.   
If such a thing was there, the animalis revelio would have picked it up and lit up like a flare. Nothing large could escape the spray.

So..

So... either it was hidden.. or... further away than it sounded.... or it was something very small.

Narrowing his eyes, he considered this.   
Well.. if it was hidden, there wasn’t much he could do about it until it leapt out at them both. Perhaps he should force Draco to walk ahead of him..   
The amount of terror this would provoke and the likely loss of loyalty he would incur probably made this a losing venture. He discarded it. If whatever it was was hidden, he would deal with it when it appeared.. or when he arrived at it, should it be much farther away than it seemed.  
If it was small though...   
Perhaps it was just a rat.. or an insect of some kind. 

He inched forward slowly. 

The tapping had an odd cadence to it. Admittedly this was a strong magical environment and thus the lifeforms that made their homes here tended to acquire an odd sentience after a while – even the insects – but he didn’t think he’d ever heard a beetle that clicked in such a complex, repeating frequency.

On a hunch he crouched down low to the floor and recast the animalis revelio.   
It sped off into the darkness and then, far off in the distance, a small white light flared. It was too dark to make out any dimensions, but the glowing spot seemed very small.

And then the tapping stopped its odd rhythm and the white spot raced toward them!

Tom ignored Draco’s hand which had dropped on his shoulder as if the older boy wanted to tug him away to run pell-mell in the other direction from whatever the small thing was that was virtually flying at them out of the darkness.

He would not run yet. Whatever this thing might be, Tom was by no means helpless. He would best it.   
Opening his hand, he released the witchlight. There was no reason to observe stealth when they had already been detected, and no sense in occupying a hand he might need.

He shifted his weight.. assuming a duelling stance in preparation.. The light had almost reached the edge of the turquoise nimbus thrown by his witchlight.  
There was a skittering sound too.   
Best to play it safe. He prepared a blasting hex. It had a fairly wide spray and would likely stop most lifeforms that might be a threat.   
Perhaps the killing curse would be better.. but it needed to be aimed exactly – not good with something small and fast – and he hadn’t used it in...a long time. It hadn’t been reliable then either.

And then there was no more time for deliberation as the speeding white dot reached the pall of his witchlight and the monster was revealed.

 

It was a bit of a let-down, all things considered. Tom deflated and lowered his hands, feeling the adrenalin that had been coursing through him subside, only to leave him with trembling fingers.

Behind him, Draco sniggered and Tom was tempted to blast the creature for the sake of it.

It was a mouse.

A tiny..itty-bitty..white mouse. It had stopped a few paces ahead of them, in the centre of the corridor, bathed in the turquoise light and was balancing on its back paws, sniffing the air and peering up at them curiously, little black eyes glittering and whiskers twitching adorably.   
Draco and Tom did not seem to constitute much of a threat for the little mite, as it promptly began to clean itself, running little hands over its head and whiskers like a showman twirling his moustache.

And then it pulled out from nowhere a tiny top hat and cane and began to dance.

Tom swore in his mind that he was going to kill Dumbledore at the earliest possible opportunity

Mind the mice, he’d said. Mind the bloody mice.. 

“Is that it?!” Draco jeered in paradoxically-euphoric disdain as if to declare that HE had not been wetting himself in fear at all, whatever impression Tom might have had. He stamped with his foot on the flagstones as if to scare the mouse off.   
Tom rolled his eyes silently and endured it. It didn’t take much to understand Draco’s mortification at his own recent weakness and the resulting unnecessary overcompensation.

However, when Draco stepped past him to better ‘scare off’ the vaudeville-esque rodent, Tom was momentarily taken off guard and reached for him just a second too late.

Draco’s fabulously girly squeal at the sudden attack of the ickle bitty mouse was something that Tom thought he would savour remembering for a long time to come.   
And then there was the unceremonious thud of the unconscious body descending to the floor unhindered and the mouse was skittering back and re-sheathing it’s miniscule pin inside it’s cane.

Bloody Dumbledore! Tom shook his head ruefully. Words failed him. The man was utterly insane!  
This was undoubtedly his ‘gentle warning’.   
Tom could probably easily blast, slice, incinerate or otherwise dispatch this ...relatively harmless...little mouse and continue on – but who knew what lay in wait further on?!   
Whatever it was.. it would be hidden, it would be virtually impossible to escape and it would be utterly devoid of mercy. That was how the man worked!   
This was Dumbledore’s invisible, irritatingly paternal, hand resting gently on one’s shoulder and saying.. ‘I really wish you would reconsider this unwise course of action...I do not want to have to do what you are forcing me to do’.

“I suppose you’re pleased with yourself” he spat half heartedly at the mouse. It squeaked amiably and did a little tap-dance for him.

It was so damned frustrating. He was out of the room finally.. out of the cell.. and now he knew he was going to turn around and march right back into it! There was no other truly viable option! This route out of the castle was just about the only one he had thought had the slightest chance of success. 

“Fine. Then let’s get on with it.” he snarked, flinging an imperious hand to levitate Draco’s limp body. He was briefly tempted to leave the idiot down here in the dark, but it was not really Draco that he was angry with and the blonde could ...would...still be useful to him.   
He had no intention of healing him again though. Whatever Dumbledore had just stuck him with, he could fix the results himself!

He made a sweeping gesture, ushering the mouse ahead of him. “Well?! Lead the way!”

The mouse squeaked in a manner that somehow sounded insulted; re-stowed its hat and cane somewhere impossible according to recorded murine anatomy and the laws of physics and then zipped off into the darkness at a pace that made following it impossible. 

Of course. 

Tom sighed long sufferingly and started off in the direction of the stairwell up to the second sublevel.

 

 

 

The mice were obnoxious.

Tom scowled down at the tiny white tutu’d creature, sorely tempted to curse it. The creatures had appeared several times now – always at points where Tom might choose to take a different path – a path that might lead somewhere ‘unproductive’. For example – toward the bulk potion stores, the broom repair workshop or the Slytherin house entrance.

As a result of needing to steer wide of these (and other) inadvisably-tempting locales, Tom had been obliged by the mice to follow an extremely meandering and twisting path upward

Glaring impotently at the ridiculous solo rendition of swan lake he was being treated to by the latest mouse, Tom huffed under his breath. The path to the right – the one presently advertised - would bring them up to the third floor, and from there, probably via the north corridor, up the less frequented fixed stairs in the northeast tower to the fourth floor and by means of further annoying circuitous routes onward to the head boy and girl’s chambers. 

Where Dumbledore would be waiting. ...In all likelihood sitting calmly and drinking a cup of tea.

The path on the left however would bring him to one of the more inconvenient entrances to the chamber of secrets. It involved a very rusty and unstable iron spiral staircase. He suspected it was one of Slytherin’s barriers and would only carry the heir.   
While technically, as Draco was being levitated currently, this should not pose a problem in terms of weight, Tom highly doubted that the thousand year old stairs gave a twirly fuck about weight. If he took Draco down them, he would either end up dropping him or they would both plummet.

The mouse on the right path squeaked impatiently.

“yes, yes” Tom muttered in irritation and stomped off down the right path after it.

His feet hurt. And his back was starting to ache too.

Nothing had ever hurt, when he had been in the diary. And while pain, since his restoration, had at first been a rare novelty and something to be enjoyed, it had lost that status somewhere around the ground floor where he discovered that beyond taking the paths that Dumbledore advised, he was politely requested not to dawdle also.   
When he had sat down in the corridor for a rest, a mouse had emerged within a couple of minutes and had promptly started offensively playing a tiny bagpipe at him very badly until he started moving again. 

He had walked for weeks without stopping in the false world inside the diary, but out here his body was not prepared for this level of exertion.   
Hogwarts was vast and traversing it, even via the most efficient routes, tended to keep the most gluttonous of students fairly trim. The ‘scenic route’ that the mice were taking him on had to have spanned miles by now – a considerable portion of which had been composed of narrow stone staircases where he had had to carefully negotiate Draco’s body up ahead of him.   
As a result, he was almost looking forward to getting back to his comfortable cell now; getting through whatever irritating demands Dumbledore would have of him, taking a long drink of water and going to sleep until the bastard woke him to demand something more of him.  
Which he would. Of that, Tom had no doubt.

 

He was miserably relieved, when he finally did arrive at the head boy and girl’s rooms, Draco in tow, although far less buoyantly than he had been originally – if magic could be said to ache, Tom thought his magic might be aching from the length of time that he had had to maintain the levitation charm on the blonde.

It was similarly bitterly gratifying to discover that he had been right in his expectations. When he reached the wide open door to the head common rooms, Dumbledore sat quite peacefully oblivious, in front of a crackling fire, in one of the armchairs; apparently reading from a book on his lap and sipping now and then at a cup of tea. A small dish of lemon drops sat on one of the armrests beside him. He glanced up at the resounding bang of Tom slamming the door after himself and smiled benevolently.

“Ah Tom. Did you have a pleasant walk? I do myself enjoy exploring some of the lesser known parts of the castle. It is always a surprise what one will discover.”   
He peered obnoxiously over the rim of his half moon spectacles with a knowing twinkle. 

Tom wanted to stab him with something. Preferably something that could be transfigured from a mouse.

“Get on with it, then.” he muttered, lowering Draco to the floor with less care than he might have displayed, had he not had to carry the twit for hours now. “Tell me what you want me to do so that I can do it and you can get out and leave me in peace.”

Dumbledore frowned at him reproachfully, though whether it was due to his cynical response or his treatment of the Malfoy heir, Tom could not say. It hardly mattered anyway.

“I am afraid that it will not be quite so simple, Tom” he said ominously. “Although it might help if you could trouble yourself to place Draco upon the sofa rather than discarding him upon the floor as you have done. I think that he does not...entirely.. merit such callous treatment, don’t you agree? 

Tom struggled not to snarl and complied, levitating Draco with more effort than it had taken several hours prior, and shifting him carefully to the sofa. 

“Is he otherwise injured” Dumbledore asked hesitantly, with an edge to his voice that sounded like hope. His expression shifted once more to disappointment when Tom told him that he hadn’t bothered to check. For a long, silent, minute he stared at Draco and seemed to be entirely preoccupied with his own thoughts, before he turned back to Tom, his blue eyes now hardened to piercing little stones.

“Could you tell me, Tom, because I would very much like to understand, why exactly you took the time to heal and soothe Draco in the holding chamber, when only a very short time later you appear almost entirely disinterested in whether he lives or dies.?”

Tom glared; he was more infuriated by this pointed line of questioning than he knew he should be, but then he had already been quite put-out when he had arrived up here. If Dumbledore wanted him to feel bad, he was going to remain unsatisfied because Tom was just too tired and fed-up to simulate remorse right now.

“He fell from a normal standing height onto a stone floor, as was to be expected, considering whatever potion you gave the blasted mice. If you were concerned about his well being, then you could have either not caused him to be tranquilized unexpectedly while standing in a corridor at the rectal-end of the castle, or you could have not required me to walk every winding back-route possible to get here. Either way, I considered that whatever damage might have been done to him through the fall would more reasonably be healed by the one who had indirectly caused it - preferably at the same time you counteracted your own potion - than by me, when I might confuse intended-injury for accidental-injury.”

He finished his blustery response by tossing himself into the other armchair, uncaring if it made him appear a sulky teenager.   
All of this was...so..annoying..

As if to prove that he was completely barmy, Dumbledore smiled indulgently once more and gestured at the tea, offering him a cup as if in reward for some perceived ‘right-doing’.

“No.” he muttered, just for the spite of it, although he was so thirsty he could hardly care less what potion the bastard might dose him with.

This drew a tolerant sigh, a twinkle and a half-hearted gesture at the lemon drop bowl.   
Tom only glared, as if he might flay the skin from the old man’s bones with the sheer force of his irritation.

“Very well then, Tom. Since you seem to be comfortable for the moment, Perhaps we might turn our attention to the matter of Hermione Granger...”

Tom narrowed his eyes at the man, vividly imagining his festering corpse impaled on a spike and hoping that the old goat could see it in his mind.   
It was entirely unsatisfying to be proven right in his predictions of Dumbledore’s behaviour when he could neither derive advantage from his knowledge nor avoid his fate.

“Yes, lets, shall we?!” he replied with acidic enthusiasm.


	18. Chapter 18

With an exhausted huff of a sigh, Tom carefully pushed the precarious stack of parchment in front of him back slightly on the desk, so that he could drop his head onto his folded arms.  
Finished. Finally.  
His hand hurt…   
No, forget his hand - his mind hurt. So… Much… Stupidity… It was painful to read it! It grated against him to even call it ignorance. Ignorance could be elucidated and thus corrected - Ignorance was at least understandable under some circumstances. But then there was sheer mind-numbing stupidity! Minds like cudgels, lacking the power to understand or the cunning to cheat. The work was an exercise in futility for both writer and reader.

He recalled once again ruefully his discussion...or rather, negotiation... with Dumbledore almost four weeks ago; on the evening that the man had allowed him to ‘escape’ from the cell in which he had been held pending attempts to force him to undo the ‘harm’ he had caused Draco and the mudblood.  
...Dumbledore had said that he appreciated that Slytherins responded better to negotiation than threats or ultimatums and thus he wished Tom to view their discussion in that frame.

They had spoken for hours, at a time when he was already mentally and physically exhausted. It was therefore not entirely incomprehensible that he had been astounded and gleeful at how naïve Dumbledore was, to offer him so much of what Tom himself desired at so negligible a cost.

For instance, as an opener, Dumbledore had offered him the opportunity to study the school curriculum - the current school curriculum. In private, of course; toward an informal testing of his OWLs and NEWTs.  
When Tom was suspicious, the old man had voluntarily given him an oath not to vet, edit or censor the curriculum in any way, and to do all in his power to ensure that no books or other written material that reached Tom were magically tampered with to influence his thinking or behaviour.

Unfortunately, Tom, overjoyed at his luck, had not nailed Dumbledore down quite as firmly as he should have upon the proviso that the bastard had made - namely, that in return for this opportunity, he would assist some of the professors with minor tasks; perhaps correct some of the younger-years’ assignments when the professors were overworked. He would be provided guidelines for answers, naturally

To think.. he’d leapt upon that tiny burden, seeing how he could work it to his advantage - after all, he was still quite interested in learning which of his former acquaintances might have offspring among Hogwarts current students. And there remained the possibility that his other self might learn of his new task and find a way to sneak a coded message into the assignments of his servants’ children and thereby open another channel of communication.

However, it was Tom who had been naive. Apparently all of Hogwarts staff were overworked ALL of the time, since Tom was now working his fingers to the bone correcting virtually all of the first and second year assignments in Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Herbology, Charms and a class that had not even existed in his own time -Muggle Studies!! The very idea of having a class to teach the wizarding world about muggles (and in such a sycophantic manner!) was offensive to him.  
Although... grudgingly, he would admit that the Muggles had certainly developed a lot of strange new devices since his own time and so he was fortunate to be so easily and efficiently educated about their world; A world he might eventually have to hide within, should he ever escape Dumbledore and wish to avoid his other self.

That was the only redeeming factor in the pointless slavery though, since he had had, while in the diary, a very long time to read all of the advanced texts in the library in the remaining subjects, and so far, he had discovered little in the textbooks which would suggest a paradigm shift in those areas... Although, in light of the fact that he was reading fourth year texts and was progressing quite slowly, it was premature to judge.

The long and the short of it was that he worked like a house elf and barely had enough time to do any of his own study or assignments - the implicit threat that his ‘opportunity’ might be revoked if he refused work kept his nose to the grindstone all day. And as unchallenging, even boring, as the fourth-year curriculum material might be, he did not wish to lose his access to it, for fear of what he might miss.

As to his hopes for the busywork of correcting assignments - there was no information to be gained about the children of his former classmates from the wristbreaking labour - all of the names on the assignments were magically obscured. According to Dumbledore this was a standard procedure for all Hogwarts professors when marking assignments, in order to minimize intentional or unintentional bias.  
Moreover, all of his papers were checked for magical tampering before they were given over to him (as promised by Dumbledore in his oath) which essentially eliminated the possibility that his other self could use any magical ciphers within them.

He had weighed the benefit to be similarly in his own favour with Dumbledore’s next generous offer, namely that he would receive a Daily Prophet newspaper once a week. The day would be determined by Dumbledore but he would receive one each week. All that he would have to do to be granted access to ongoing current events was to willingly and cooperatively engage in a discussion with Dumbledore about some of the current events mentioned in the paper.

This too had seemed of merit. What more might he learn about the outside world now from such a discussion with Dumbledore?! No doubt he would mention other things that would add context to the events Tom was learning about.

And he had. For example last week the wretched old man had spoken at length about the personalities, achievements and wasted potential of the children of a mudblood family that had been “brutally massacred” by death eaters during the previous night. Simon, the older son of the family, had graduated Hogwarts three years previously and had eventually returned to the muggle world after he had been unable to find work of any kind within the wizarding world. In his NEWTs, he had achieved three outstandings and in the remaining subjects all exceeds expectations. Nevertheless, he was deemed unsuitable even to work as a shop hand or a waiter. When he returned to the muggle world, he found himself unqualified for any well-paying employment, as his wizarding qualifications could obviously not be listed in a muggle curriculum vitae. A pity. He had since been living with his parents and working as a cleaner. 

His brother, younger by one year, who had not been born with magical ability, was away at muggle university studying to become an architect. The night that Simon and his parents had been murdered, Simon had taken the night off work. It seemed he had received a forged letter from Hogwarts stating that Dumbledore himself hoped to be able to visit them to speak about a ‘rare opportunity for their family.’  
As it turned out, this rare opportunity consisted of being eviscerated and having his entrails festooned from lampposts. 

Dumbledore had then mentioned that several of the assignments that Tom had marked that day had been from the boy’s younger sister; also a very capable student in Ravenclaw. She was now being sent to live with her muggle aunt in Wales; the woman had chosen to withdraw her from Hogwarts and enrol her in a muggle school in her own district. Dumbledore had said that he considered visiting the girl’s aunt to try to convince her to allow her niece to remain at Hogwarts; he had even briefly thought about giving her a very light magical push to do so, unethical as that might be, but had decided that the girl in question might be safer in Wales at present, as unfair as it was to deny such a promising young witch an education due to the prejudices of others.  
He had then summoned the unnamed paper from the pile that had been on the desk (thankfully without toppling it). The girl had received an E. Tom remembered marking that particular assignment. It was one he had deliberated over on a couple of quibbly points. It had almost been an O.

Of course that meant nothing. There were undoubtedly a few exceptional mudbloods, just as there were a few borderline-retarded purebloods. It was the average which spoke of the potential of one’s blood. The average mudblood was inferior in their performance. He had observed it while he had attended school.  
They underachieved. They wilfully misunderstood, feared and disdained the wizarding world, preferring to return to muggles! They were utterly insipid and weak!

On the balance, of the four newspapers he had so far received, he would have willingly sacrificed the chance to read any of them if it meant that he did not have to talk with Dumbledore about whatever the old man wanted to discuss that day. He was always left feeling confused and blindsided...and just a little bit as if he was betraying himself…

He had earlier this week asked whether they could renegotiate their terms. Dumbledore had twinkled at him and promised him a chance to renegotiate in another few weeks.

In the original negotiation, the point which he had expected Dumbledore to lead with had actually come much later. By then, Tom had already been lulled by Dumbledore’s seeming generosity and had been far more amenable to reason than he otherwise might have been. Dumbledore had easily obliged him to release the control over Hermione’s magic that her broken oath had bestowed upon him. He had simply stated that either Tom would rescind his rights to Hermione’s magic or he would have Tom’s own magic permanently blocked, to prevent him from harming her. However, should he be reasonable and also remove the incomplemunicado hex he had placed on her, then he would be permitted to use magic freely within the confines of his room and would even be allowed to use it in the common room on occasion, in order to demonstrate it as part of training toward NEWTs.

Considering that he had expected to be forced, one way or another, to free the mudblood; and had rather anticipated that he would be as summarily besquibbed as he had been in the cell from this point on (if nothing worse happened to him) he had almost thanked Dumbledore for his improbable generosity (and foolishness).

When the mudblood in question had been brought along the following night for him to fulfil his agreement, she had not even looked at Tom. She had smiled tightly at Dumbledore and had stood passively, seemingly absorbed in watching the fire flicker in the perpetually lit fireplace while Dumbledore irritated Tom with trite morals, unnecessary warnings and even a couple of outright threats. Within two minutes of Tom removing the curse and formally abdicating the rights gained through Hermione’s broken oath, Dumbledore had thanked him (Hermione had said nothing at all) and the two had flooed out once again.

Tom had hurried upstairs to test whether Dumbledore had kept his word regarding the free use of magic within the confines of his bedroom. Not that he’d particularly doubted that he would. When he was so specific in his promises to do something, Dumbledore would never deceive. It was in the grey zones - by manipulating one into accepting linguistic and cognitive loopholes - that the man had to be watched. He would deliver exactly what he had said he would deliver - it would merely be other than one had been led to expect when it arrived.   
In this particular case… the hidden flaw was that he had found himself outside of his room almost all of the time, since the students’ assignments refused to be transported by any means across the portal into his room - which left him correcting them by hand on the desk in the heads’ common room for hours and hours on end each day. It was worse than a detention!   
...Not that he had received many of those in his own school days.  
When he was finished and could take his own course books up, he had so much to read and he was so exhausted that he had very little real motivation to practice spells that were all extremely basic. Yes.. some were unknown to him - but they tended not to be particularly useful when they were new to him, or he already knew several alternatives that served the same purpose.

And it was so quiet too… Or, at least when he wasn’t enduring a visit from Dumbledore it was quiet. Unbroken peace… Almost like the diary world. Hermione no longer occupied the Head girl’s room. She had, as Dumbledore said, “chosen to give up that honour” and although he had the impression that the manipulative old bastard had tried to convince her to reconsider, she was evidently not willing to. That was fine by Tom. He really preferred not to have to see her wretched, scared and yet persistently insubordinate face again anyway…

She had been persuaded not to reveal to others what had been done to her, which was something.

It would make a difference, Tom thought, if he actually saw Harry anymore.

He did not see Harry and would not be seeing him in the near future, he suspected. That was one of the points at which the “negotiation” had stalled. Dumbledore had agreed to let Tom see Harry regularly, provided he swore never to attempt to kill or seriously harm him, or to seek to bring about those ends through other means.

Impossible!

Even if he wanted to offer such a promise - which he didn’t - he really didn’t see how it was even possible for him to swear to that without immediately invalidating his own oath, since other parts of himself, ignorant of the oath, were at this moment attempting to bring about Harry’s death one way or another.

Dumbledore had conceded this disappointedly and then offered to allow Tom to see Harry provided that they were chaperoned and that Tom’s magic was suppressed. He offered to allow Tom to continue teaching Harry defensive magic. 

Oh what a wonderful concession, Tom thought. He would be graciously permitted to make Harry stronger by willingly making himself weaker, and he would not even have the faint prospect of taking his pleasure with the other boy.

“No, thank you” he had responded.

He would not be enjoying Draco anymore either, as it happened. Dumbledore would only allow Tom to meet with him if he agreed to a whole host of different demands that were, individually, quite reasonable, but taken together essentially meant that he would not be acting in a manner Dumbledore considered undesirable, and would be relating back to the old man via extracted memories exactly what had transpired.  
This was...not as bad... as being forced to consume some kind of truth potion after all - he would not have to confess everything asked of him and he would not have to say what he thought about anything he shared. It was less than might have been summarily demanded of him at this point, he thought.

He still wasn’t going to agree to it.

Although... it troubled him (just a little) what might happen… What might already have happened to Draco now that he was unable to meet with Tom. He would probably be punished for it. Tom thought that his other self did not seem, in Draco’s memories, to be the kind of master to care whether Draco was at fault or not.

So that essentially left him alone…

With no one at all to see or speak to apart from Dumbledore, who came at least once a day for varying lengths of time - sometimes as short as a few minutes - other times, when they were to discuss something of importance or that week’s newspaper, he might remain for several hours. 

It was miserable. Tom’s life consisted of endless work that was both dull and irritating and intermittent unavoidable discussions with Dumbledore about subjects that inevitably had some kind of moral component to them or sought to expose some weakness in Tom’s other self.

And it actually got worse every day because - irony of ironies - after planning to feign insomnia in order to manipulate his way into Hermione’s bed, he now found himself having genuine difficulty sleeping. 

Frequently he thought he was sleeping, but had merely slipped into his familiar meditative trance. He woke up more tired than he had been before. It didn’t renew a body like sleep did. He hadn’t used it for rest in the diary; he didn’t need rest. It was merely a time filler. By slipping into that state, he could shorten the endless unbroken expanse of time in the diary with the illusion of cycles of wake and sleep periods.

During the first week, Dumbledore had not been much interested in this, it seemed. He had tsked and displayed false sympathy when Tom had mentioned it, but had done nothing, probably thinking it was still all a ploy.  
By the second week he had started to become more concerned as the shadows lengthened under Tom’s eyes. He had once brought along an older woman who Tom had not recognised but who, he gathered, was Hogwarts current mediwitch.  
She found no concrete reason for his sleep difficulties and had been extremely reluctant to try to solve the problem with potions. At Dumbledore’s gentle encouragement she had left him with several very weak sleep tonics.  
They had tasted like chalk and done nothing at all. 

By the end of the second week Dumbledore had started to bring a much stronger sleep potion for him in the evening every second day. It had caused him to sleep, however, like most sleep related draughts, it came with a few uncomfortable side effects and was absolutely not for frequent use. It would quickly become addictive and would begin to degrade the imbibers mind after a while. 

Since the beginning of this week he had been taking the potion nightly as it was rapidly losing its efficacy. He knew that he would only have days before it ceased to have any effect at all. The first time he had taken it last week, he had achieved eight full hours of sleep; the second time it had been just a little bit less; but last night, Tom had slept for only four hours before he’d awoken, uncomfortable and itchy all over from the grindylow bile that was a component of the brew.

He felt irritable and physically weary.

Too much work… too little rest. If Hermione knew about this, she was probably laughing her muddy little head off. It was like the boy who cried wolf getting what he deserved.

His thoughts were interrupted by the pop of a house elf arriving in the room somewhere behind him.  
He didn’t bother to lift his head up from his arms or turn. It was perfectly on time, he knew. They always were.  
It was his dinner. 

That was another of Dumbledore’s points in their little negotiation - and at least with this one, Tom could find no especially insidious hidden hook, since the man had promised not to try to poison or dose him with any manner of potion or charm unknowingly.  
It was important for Tom to be able to trust enough to eat and drink, Dumbledore had said before he had made the oath.  
Since Tom had previously not been independently summoning the house elves to bring him food with anything like the regularity that a normal boy of his body’s physical age would require to remain healthy, Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to ensure Tom’s future well-being. A house elf would now visit him three times a day in the heads’ common room and would bring his choice from whatever was being offered in the great hall for that meal. Tom was expected to eat at least a minimum healthy portion of it and the elf would unobtrusively (translation - undetectably) remain to ensure that he did consume that portion and did not somehow ‘forget’ it.   
Dumbledore would hear if Tom was not eating well and they would have to discuss it.

“What is it tonight?” he muttered against his arm disinterestedly.

The elf quavered slightly.  
“Pleasing to be bringing you sir - the roasted beef with mashy potatoes, beanses, carrot and colly flowers. Or roasted rain deers with spongey balls and sour cabbage. Or ham burgers and chipped potatoes with springing rolls. And there is sauces too if sirs is wanting! And dessert is goings to be five flavour icing cream or chocolatey crunchy cake or purple wobblies.”

Tom sighed.  
“Fine. The beef and the ice cream” he told it apathetically. “And water will be fine.”

There was a click and then a soft tap that he knew was the sound of the elf first clicking its fingers and summoning the tray with his dinner and then levitating it gently down onto the table. The pop that followed was muted in comparison with the initial entrance pop and this, Tom knew, was because the elf did not truly leave - it merely simulated leaving for politeness sake.

After a while he dragged himself up from the desk and over to the table to eat.

It tasted wonderful. Of course. Everything at Hogwarts did. Always had. But he was coming to learn that after wanting a thing for such an interminably long period, it took almost no time at all to begin to take it for granted and cease to savour it.

Perhaps it was the tiredness. Perhaps he would appreciate it more if he were not so bone weary.

As it was, he left most of the meal and after the elf had discreetly removed it and left, leaned back on the sofa haphazardly and tried not to slide into the meditative trance state again.  
Staring vaguely in the direction of the dark windows over the desk, without any particular sentiment or thought in his head, it was virtually impossible to resist though.

Thus, he was painfully jarred into awareness at some indeterminate time later by the rough shaking of a hand on his shoulder.

Blinking he refocused on the improbable amber brown eyes, currently wide with worry and set in a pale anxious face as Hermione leaned down over him, looking for all the world as if she’d found him bleeding out on the floor. 

“Oh thank god!” she mumbled to herself and stepped a couple of nervous steps back.

She wasn’t wearing her uniform, he registered dimly through the haze of his own rising fury at the fact that she was there at all. Instead of the familiar robes she had on an indecently figure hugging pair of coarse denim trousers, what looked like a pale pink long-sleeved singlet and a white cardigan with half pearl buttons.  
It was disgusting! How dare she betray him, abandon him and then simply swan back in dressed so provocatively!

Tom discovered reserves of energy and feeling that he had not experienced in days.. perhaps weeks. He pushed himself up indignantly, absently straightening his shirt and let loose on the impudent mudblood   
“What are you doing here?! You don’t sleep here anymore, mudblood, so there’s no longer any excuse for intruding into these rooms unannounced. And what possessed you to think I would permit your dirty fingers upon me! After recent events...and in light of what you are, your gall truly knows no bounds! Get out!”

The girl took a startled step back, as if she had expected something quite different and thought he might leap up and bite her next.

“I... I knocked before I came in” she sputtered, sounding wrong-footed. Professor Dumbledore said it would be alright to visit you now. I was...worried you might have gone to bed but he said that you were in the common room right now and that it would be-“ 

She stopped and seemed to take a breath and collect herself again somewhat before starting again in a firmer and smoother manner.   
“I’m sorry... for…for waking you like that - but I spoke to you several times! Loudly! I thought you were ignoring me at first.. your eyes were open!! And then… then, when you didn’t move at all, I thought you were-...”

Dead. Tom thought to himself, morbidly amused. She thought me dead. I wonder if she was relieved.

Hermione swallowed and then continued as if she hadn’t just stumbled. “I was concerned you might be injured or enchanted. There was obviously something wrong!”   
Another, slightly different, frown passed over her forehead like a stormcloud. “I probably shouldn’t have touched you. If you had been enchanted, any manner of thing could have happened to me.” She pursed her lips, apparently at her own stupidity and then seemed to dismiss the irritation forcibly, clearing her face back to a patient firmness and turning her attention back to Tom.   
“As much as it bothers me to say it - and it really...really...bothers me since you are so... horribly... obnoxious - I have to accept that I... I... may owe you an apology.”

Tom controlled his eyebrows with difficulty as they attempted to make a break for his hairline.

“Go on” he prompted dryly, already suspecting where this might be leading. Although it was pleasant to see the witch squirm uncomfortably, he would have preferred her to be screaming under his curses and he certainly no longer had any interest in what might finally be offered, with the utmost reluctance and resentment.

The girl’s eyes narrowed minutely for a moment and he could see her grit her teeth.

“...I...should possibly have tried to speak with you when I woke up to find you in my bed. I should...” She paused and took a deep breath, letting it out in a soft huff. “I should have ...reacted...with a bit more patience and compassion. I regret that...a little bit... now. I was very surprised to wake and find you there.”

Her eyes conveyed unmistakeably that ‘surprised’ was now serving as synonym for ‘horrified and repulsed’.

“When you said you were having difficulty sleeping, I thought it was just an excuse. No... I thought it was a lie!! I thought you were just trying to blackmail me into letting you into my bed. I thought....I thought you were a conniving little-“ She didn’t finish the description and swallowed uncomfortably. “Anyway...I didn’t consider that you might actually have a prob-“

“If that is all that is worrying you-“ Tom interrupted harshly “then I can satisfy your conscience and you can remove yourself. It was all a ploy and I assure you, I intended to get into more than just your bed. Call it temporary insanity – You are, after all, the only female I have glimpsed in sixty years. You as much as acknowledged yourself that you knew that Dumbledore had placed you here as a lure. Don’t fret - I have returned to my senses and see you once more for the repugnant miscarriage of the natural order that you indisputably are. Were it possible for such a filthy creature to have ‘virtue’ - I would not want yours.”

He watched with amusement the paradoxical hurt, the more understandable apoplexy and the dwindling self-restraint churn and war within the witch. It seemed almost as if Hermione’s hair puffed up in her anger like a hissing cat bristling.

Reluctantly, he acknowledged to himself that he was entertained. 

Hermione was more entertaining than Dumbledore’s tedious ‘discussions’ or the endless work. More entertaining even than the study he managed to scrape in between both of the former. Upsetting her was enormously enjoyable. This thought was followed immediately by the sober counter that Dumbledore would have had a hand in pushing the mudblood back in here and that allowing himself to be entertained was the first step toward falling for the old man’s machinations in this area.  
Besides… He had turned to Hermione for assistance when it counted most and she had betrayed him - she had chosen to stun him instead of Snape when she had the choice. 

He could have hurt her at any time and he had chosen not to. He could have forced her to do whatever he wanted...and he hadn’t. He had shown her that he wanted her; had pursued her even though she had dirty blood and even though she had insulted him...over and over again.

And then she had betrayed him when he needed her. 

He would not debase himself so again with mercy toward something so undeserving. 

The witch in question had reached a point of calm again, it appeared. She smoothed her cardigan absently and then stepped forward decisively.  
“Yes... I know that part of it was just an attempt at blackmail. But even if Professor Dumbledore hadn’t told me that he was worried for you, I can see that you haven’t been sleeping - you look like death warmed up, Tom! And perhaps I would be able to convince myself that it was all still an ongoing con if I hadn’t actually walked in to find you catatonic!! ...What is wrong with you? What happened to-“ 

Tom gritted his teeth and growled in irritation. He would not discuss his own weakness with this witch. She should just leave! He demanded as such, to absolutely no effect. Hermione didn’t even blink. No - she advanced! She stepped closer, bold as brass, and sat down on the sofa next to him.

“I didn’t pay enough attention that day but I do remember you said that you had slept well and that you had otherwise been having difficulties regulating your sleep...words to that effect anyway. I’m listening now! Why do you think that you are-“

“There is no why! I am fine. I won’t warn you again - Get out! Now! And don’t return. I don’t want you here. Persist and I will hurt you. And I will make it clear to Dumbledore when he comes by later that if you return, I will-“

“Professor Dumbledore isn’t coming to see you tonight." Hermione interrupted softly but with faintly discernable smugness.

The implications of this news sunk into Tom’s mind. Dumbledore would not be checking on him. More importantly, he would not be bringing him the potion!! However miserably exhausted he felt today, it would be worse tomorrow.

“Oh goody.” He muttered acerbically. I shan’t have to listen to his drivel then. Why are you still here?”

He had a much stronger suspicion as to why the girl was here now. Or rather, why she was here Now. So late in the evening. With a determined set to her jaw.

The peevish voice of his resentment and the low growl of his wrath were enough to beat down the more reasonable whisper that what she was probably going to offer was what he had wanted all along.

The girl paused and seemed to consider her words more carefully.

“When I met with the Headmaster, he told me that you were taking a strong sleeping potion. He said you were taking it every day... and that it was starting to fail already.” 

She observed him as if he were a potions experiment. Tom narrowed his eyes venomously and said nothing.

“He told me…” she paused and chewed indecisively on the corner of her lip before seemingly deciding against whatever she had been going to say. “We talked about a lot of different things and I came to understand a lot more about... well… about some things I might have been misunderstanding… or.. not misunderstanding exactly, I suppose, but interpreting in the wrong context.”

Tom rolled his eyes and stood up. He’d had enough of this. He didn’t want to know what private information about Tom himself Dumbledore had whispered into the witch’s ear to persuade her to come here and try to ‘help’ him. 

“If you won’t leave - perhaps you’d like to accompany me upstairs so that I might more eloquently articulate my current feelings toward you.”

This drew a scowl and a pause before the girl bit out “I am really trying to-“

Tom turned away from her and started toward the staircase to his room.

“Wait!” 

He paused. The girl had jumped to her feet as if to chase after him. Had she truly expected eager compliance? For him to just forget how disappointingly she had behaved?! Because he was tired?! He wouldn’t!

“You can’t just ignore the problem and go off to sulk in your room, T-Tom! I don’t know whether its the same for wizards or… or… reanimated horcruxes… but I’ve read about the effects of sleep deprivation on a normal person. You’ll become irratio- even less rational. You’ll lose your mind! The human body needs sleep to survive. If you get to the point where you are not sleeping at all anymore then…”

“Hardly your concern” he snapped and started to turn away again.

“I’ll stay with you. I’ll let you sleep beside me. If you need that to-“

He rolled his eyes but did not pause on his way, tossing back carelessly over his shoulder the advice “Don’t embarrass yourself any further. I have already given you my answer. You have nothing that I require.”

“But- but it’s what you wanted!! You cursed me! You tried to blackmail me to-“

Tom didn’t bother replying this time as he started up the stairs up to his room.

“Professor Dumbledore didn’t ask me to stay - if that’s what you’re so twisted up about” the girl called after him sounding panicked and more than a little confused at his dismissal. “Stop being a stubborn ch- idiot!”

Tom continued up the stairs disinterestedly. Perhaps the twit would follow him into his room where he could access his magic.   
it would be better if she didn’t though, he reasoned. If she did then he would be very tempted to do something that Dumbledore wouldn’t like. The old goat would look at Tom in that disappointed way and then he’d do something that ‘he didn’t want to do’ to Tom.  
There was no call for that kind of unpleasantness. The mudblood should just leave. If it came down to it, he would just offer Dumbledore the promise he’d wanted in order to allow him to see Draco.   
He could sleep near Draco. He was almost certain of it. He had almost fallen asleep with him before.

Perhaps if he tried to imagine that he was lying next to someone else...

The soft but distinctive crack of a breaking ampoule gave Tom pause. 

He recognised that sound on a deeper physiological level now. He knew that this alert attention to such a tiny cue was a sign of addiction, but that hardly seemed relevant. 

The mudblood had a sleeping draught.

Oh.. it might not be a sleeping draught. It could be any other potion that was sealed after brewing in small single dose ampoules in order to restrict access, yet was readily available to a goody-good Gryffindor.  
It could be another potion, he told himself as he turned on the ball of his foot and started back down the stairs. It might be a sleeping draught though. The mudblood might have brought it for him - she had said that she had visited Dumbledore.

Re-entering the common room, he found that Hermione indeed held a small ampoule which resembled in size and colour the potion which Dumbledore had been bringing him nightly. She also looked extremely nervous and uncertain. Her hand, holding the tiny draught up for him to see, shook slightly and she shifted her weight from foot to foot as if she was considering bolting now.

“Tom - you.. you know that this isn’t going to help for lon-“

“Oh do stop talking, Hermione. We are far past the time when I might have listened to you. Give me that - you should have simply handed it over when you first arrived - and then, for the last time, get out!"

The girl swallowed and pulled herself back up to a semblance of confidence again, tightening her grip on the fragile little ampoule in a way that made Tom’s breath catch. She wouldn’t crush it, simply to be vindictive, surely?!

“I am sure that someone as clever as you think you are, Tom, has already realised that you’re becoming addicted to this.” She gestured with the hand that held the small phial and Tom barely managed to stop himself from reaching out a hand anxiously.   
“And you’re taking it every day, Dumbledore said. Are you mad?! This isn’t a solution. This is only making things worse!” She tilted her hand as if to spill the tiny mouthful of bitter fluid and at this, Tom did have to jump forward, hands out to catch anything that might fall.

“Don’t!! Don’t spill it!” He gritted his teeth and forced the word out. “Please! Just...just give it to me.”

The mudblood’s large amber eyes blinked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. She looked surprised and then her expression softened in a strange way that he couldn’t quite decipher.

And then she swiftly brought the ampoule to her own lips and tossed the potion back with a quick swallow.

“NO!!!” he heard himself cry and he was already leaping at the girl, bearing her down hard upon the sofa behind her and snatching the tiny flask from her limp fingers. 

He sucked at it, probing with his tongue at the tiny hole. Nothing. Not a drop.   
Mudblood WHORE!!

He didn’t toss the ampoule but clasped it in his hand protectively as he brought the other arm up and then back down, roughly backhanding the stupid witch. 

She was already too numbed for this to make the impact he truly wished it to. Hermione’s head flew to the side and her half lidded eyes opened slightly wider in mild surprise.

“WHY did you do that?!” he demanded bitterly. “Why do you keep-“ He broke off, something inside him clenching in hurt. “Why do you keep defying me at every turn?!”

The girl blinked slowly, her eyes rolling back slightly as she did, as if she were struggling to remain awake. She seemed to have to focus hard to work out what she wanted to say.  
“I’m trying ....to ...help you.”

“I told you - I don’t want your help! If you wanted to help me, you would have given me the potion instead of wasting it.” He sat back on his haunches, tilting his head back and dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m so...so... tired! You have no idea-“

Hermione, whose eyes had slipped closed, opened them a crack again and peered dazedly up in his general direction.  
“So sleep.” She murmured and then her eyes closed for the last time and her chest began to move in the slower, more regular pattern of potion-sleep.

Tom considered retrieving his quill from the desk and stabbing her in the eye with it - there was nothing else around here with any kind of a blade or point to it.   
He was so angry and exhausted!

This exhaustion was the girl’s only stroke of luck. He just could not seem to manage to work up the energy or motivation to even strangle the wretched witch right now. It occurred to him that he should at the least take advantage of her. He had stayed his hand before but the reasons at the time no longer held now.   
He couldn’t be bothered doing that either.

He knelt over the unconscious girl and just could not work up the enthusiasm to do anything but subside onto the couch beside her and close his eyes.

Hating himself, he gave in to that impulse, placing himself between the dead weight of the mudblood’s body and the back of the sofa and wrapping one arm around her waist simply because it was the most comfortable place to put it.  
It felt as if all of his muscles had been twangingly tense for far too long and were now finally softening. He sighed, disgusted at his own weakness as he pulled Hermione closer, inhaling the faint familiar scent of peaches coming from her hair.

“This means nothing.” he muttered against her shoulder before his awareness faded away and, at long last, true sleep took him.

 

A hand shook him gently.

“Tom” a female voice whispered. “Tom? Wake up.”

He scrunched his face up and turned away, burrowing into the warm surface in front of his face. He felt the body - he was certain it was a body - stiffen slightly in response to the movement before it softened again cautiously…

“Tom! You have to wake up. I have to go to class now! And... I have bedsores from lying here so long. Please wake up!”

Reality kicked in the door with jackboots, stomping all over Tom’s blissfully untroubled mind.

Hermione.   
She was here. He was clinging to her like the child that he was not. How had this happened?!

That information unrolled willingly from his memory and he all but groaned.  
Damn.   
He had slept.   
...It had been wonderful!  
No doubt as soon as he showed signs of wakefulness, the wretched creature would try to take advantage of the power she now thought she held over him.   
There would be smugness...

With the utmost reluctance, he dragged his face up from what turned out to be the side of the mudblood’s cardigan draped bosom. He blinked, surprised, registering the arm that he had been using as a pillow - the arm that had been curled around him in a manner that would be considered fond..even protective..had it been any other but himself and this girl.

He glanced up uncomfortably to find soft amber eyes scrutinizing him cautiously.

“What time is it?” he asked, although he could estimate it from the first words he had heard. If Hermione was anxious about class then it had to be Monday morning before 8am.  
It had been Saturday night when he had fallen asleep.

The answer that Hermione gave, in a quiet, carefully neutral, voice confirmed as much.

Gingerly, he picked himself up from his position so close to her, pulling away. “...You could have woken me sooner” he muttered, unaccountably embarrassed and feeling the intolerable sense of debt to the girl.

“You needed the rest” she said simply.”I woke up at some point yesterday and slipped away to the bathroom. You seemed to still be sleeping when I returned, but I didn’t want to take the chance of leaving and having you wake and then turn catatonic again so I just...stayed.”

Tom felt the vacuum in the air that would typically call for some kind of gratitude or acknowledgement of appreciation.  
He scowled, slouching against the feeling and folded his arms.

“Oh god - what now?!” the girl gasped, equal measures concerned and exasperated. “What have I done now?!”

Startled, Tom glanced up at her and then forced himself to unfold and roll the tension from his shoulders.  
“Nothing. It’s ...nothing. I…“   
It had to be said. Or else this feeling would persist.  
“I appreciate your-“

“Oh. That’s all.” The girl interrupted, relieved. “It’s fine. You don’t need to thank me – You look like you’re chewing broken glass when you try, anyway.”

She furrowed her brow then, grimacing slightly.   
“I have no idea how I am going to explain to Ron that I am moving back here. He was so pleased when I moved back into the dorms and there’s no way I can tell him the actual reason.”

“You’re not returning here!!” Tom spluttered without thinking. “Nothing has changed! I do....thank....you - but your continued ‘help’ is not required! I will-“

“Oh don’t be so ridiculous!” Hermione huffed, looking more put upon than she had since he’d woken. “Surely you must see that you need-“

“I DON’T NEED YOU!!” He snarled just a bit too loudly, making the girl flinch back momentarily. It couldn’t last. A second later and the girl had taken a deep, calming breath and was putting on her ‘reasonable’ tone of voice.

“Ok. You don’t need me. You could choose instead to slowly lobotomise yourself with dangerous and ineffective potions. Or you could stay awake. Sleep is for the weak, of course. Or..maybe you could-“

Tom narrowed his eyes, starting to get up. He had known the wretched mudblood would use this against him.

She caught his hand.

“I’m sorry!” she hushed out quickly. “I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean to.. to-“ she swallowed and for a fraction of a second she wore the most helpless and unsure look in her eyes.  
“I’ve grown used to behaving in a certain way around Harry and Ron. I’ve gotten used to… nagging them to study...lambasting them into doing or, more often, not doing things. Pushing them around, I guess.. in their own interests, though! Never for any other reason than what was best for them!

Tom privately doubted that Hermione had any idea what was ‘best’ for Harry - or, for that matter, for her beau. The boy would likely be far happier with a different witch.   
He did not pull his hand away, however.

“I..know that you’re...angry with me… Even though I am honestly not entirely sure why! I really do want to help you though! Please... let me help you?”

Something in him hissed and yammered at that. The notion that Hermione might not even realise what she had done. It was impossible! She had to have some idea!  
He lingered on the edge of the decision.

He could tell her. He could declare his expectations...his demands, if the girl truly wanted to make amends..

“I don’t need you” he said quietly. “Perhaps at one time I wanted you. Fortunately you convinced me otherwise... Don’t worry. I have other options if I require a warm body beside me in order to sleep. You can leave. You will be late for class, I believe you said.”

The girl’s face looked almost stricken as she seemed to be considering various responses to this.

Tom took the opportunity to free his hand from hers and move off toward the stairs to his room. He would shower and dress and hopefully Hermione would be gone when he came down to continue with his marking. 

This time, Hermione did not rise or speak up to stop him.

When he returned to the Heads’ common room some time later, feeling a far sight better than he could remember feeling in a long time, he found she was gone. It left him with a strange mix of satisfaction and disappointment.   
He wondered whether she would try to return later and almost convinced himself that he hoped she wouldn’t.


	19. Chapter 19

Hermione didn’t come back that night. At least... Tom was almost certain that she didn’t. 

In light of the threat that she might, he had deviated from his accustomed daily routine; had pushed his work to the side in the mid-afternoon – before the time he calculated classes might finish – and had retired to his room to ‘study’. That way, if the witch arrived expecting to have the chance to try to persuade Tom around, she would be denied it. 

It was not that he was tempted at all! He certainly hoped the wretched little mudblood had managed to comprehend what he had already clearly told her. He didn’t want her here. He did have some pride left, after all, and it was merely an oversight that his door remained just a few centimetres open all night, allowing him to hear anything that might occur in the common room downstairs. 

He spent the night drifting in and out of a wakeful state, but in between the half conscious periods, he chose to believe that he had managed to achieve some proper sleep too. 

His eyes felt like sand covered stones again that morning and he spent longer than usual under the shower, turning his face up into the soothing spray and trying to ignore his maudlin thoughts about what might possibly happen to him if his little sleeping problem didn’t resolve itself somehow   
He would find a solution, obviously. He would take Dumbledore’s unappealing deal regarding Draco if the worst came to the worst. 

Much to his own chagrin, he was beginning to wish that he had accepted the dour potion master's implied offer to exchange Hermione for the far more compliant pureblood. He had gained nothing through his reticence. The last weeks could have been spent in greater comfort than they had been.   
And pleasure, obviously.   
If he had accepted, Draco could be here right now, in the shower with him, on his knees, looking up at him with that grateful, slavish fixation. Begging to be permitted to suck him.  
He felt his cock perk slightly at the appealing thought and gritted his teeth. The previous week he had experimented with self-manipulation to ease his own tension. It had not been particularly satisfying and felt nothing like it had felt with Draco.   
He had no intention of 'taking himself in hand' now....so it did not do to dwell on impractical matters.   
Idly, he wondered yet again if Draco was being punished for failing to return to him. While it was faintly possible that his other-self had ordered the blond to remain away, he doubted that he would have seen fit to do that.   
On the other hand, if Draco was being harmed severely, he felt sure that Dumbledore would have at least mentioned the boy once or twice…or done something to persuade Tom to be more accepting of his overly restrictive ‘deal’ to have the blond live with him in Hermione’s place. Nothing of the sort had occurred. In fact, it had been weeks since the topic of Draco had even been glossed upon in his conversations with Dumbledore.

Perhaps he should enquire?

He mulled it over as he got out of the shower and towelled off. By the time he had dressed and groomed himself as per routine, he had decided that it would not be wise to draw Dumbledore’s attention back to Draco if the boy truly had some task to complete for Tom’s other self. Time was running short on the period that he had said he had to complete it. If Dumbledore’s focus was elsewhere, it might be wise to leave the matter alone. 

Draco had said he couldn’t do it though, he remembered.  
His failure would not be received well by his master, Tom suspected.

And wasn’t It absurd that he was wondering whether the other boy was ok again?!!   
He shook his head at his own thoughts and descended to the common room, only to discover, with a low groan of resignation, that the work he had left aside the previous day had more than quadrupled overnight and was now overflowing onto the floor all around the desk. 

For a moment he was tempted to just award T’s to the whole pile and go back up to his room. That would teach Dumbledore to foist off his teacher’s tasks upon a glorified prisoner of war.

With a sigh he dragged himself over to the desk and tossed himself into the hard straight-backed chair to begin his daily ‘detention’.

 

 

Several hours later the click of the door unlocking broke the absolute silence and nearly made him jump out of his skin. He had been immersed in a test paper, whose author was moronic but amusingly creative in their incorrect answers. As soon as he had registered what the sound meant, his emotions short circuited as relief and irritation clashed. 

Hermione had come back after all! 

A sudden draft swept across the back of Tom’s neck as the door opened. He reached for the swaying stacks of scrolls a moment too late and ended up covered in assorted charms, transfiguration and history essays, a pile of them all around him like an impromptu pyre of brittle curly yellow branches.   
He heaved a long suffering sigh at the unwelcome prospect of having to collect them all up again and sort through them without magic before he could resume his work.

The quiet grandfatherly chuckle brutally snuffed his traitorous little pang of hope that it might be the blasted insincere, deceitful mudblood returning to the chambers.

It was a rather jolly little chuckle too. A chuckle that said ‘Oh, silly me, But what a state you look now, Tom.’ 

The irritating old goat appeared a moment later at his side, smiling in that soft paternal manner that just grated on Tom’s nerves, and then all the scrolls swept themselves up in a whirlwind and returned to their places on the desk before him, organising themselves into pyramidal stacks by subject.

“Good afternoon Tom.” Dumbledore greeted him brightly “I had thought to stop by and visit you after dinner but I am afraid that something has come up and I will not be available later this evening. As I was passing in this direction-...”   
The gentle smile faltered slightly and an expression of fond understanding dawned in the pale blue, horrendously twinkling eyes.   
“You do seem rather less enthused at seeing me than normal. Could it be that you were expecting someone else?” Dumbledore lowered his chin to look at Tom over his half-moon spectacles.

“I am never enthused at seeing you” Tom corrected curtly, turning back to the work on the desk before him.

“Perhaps not,-“ came the mild response. “Although I live in hope, Tom, I live in hope.”

Tom’s eyebrow hoisted itself automatically at the comment which was spoken with sincerity but smacked of dry humour.

"I don't want her here either so you can spare me further allusions"

The old wizard hummed something noncommittal while nodding agreeably. His face fell slightly as he appeared to take closer note for the first time of the formidable stacks of parchments towering precariously over Tom on the desk, with only a small area cleared to lay the roll presently being worked upon. 

"When I introduced this option to the professors, I did not anticipate they would lay quite this measure of their burden upon you, Tom. I believe I will have to speak with them about it. This is rather overwhelming." He shook his head slowly in mild disapproval. "How are your own studies progressing?"

Tom raised a dubious eyebrow. "This is the purpose of your...visit...today? Sudden interest in my comprehension of fourth year coursework?"

The old wizard shifted his weight slightly and the ever present eye-twinkle dimmed a shade or two. 

“No, no. Naturally not, my boy. I had hoped to discuss something with you. Perhaps we might sit and speak for a while?

Tom noticed, for the first time, the folded prophet that the man held clamped under one arm and groaned aloud.   
“Of course. Well… let us get it over with then, shall we. What is it that you hope me to feel guilty and conflicted about this evening, hm? I don’t need to read the paper – it seems to be full of little more than drivel in this time period anyway. Just tell me whatever it is that you want me to feel terrible about so that I can dismiss it and we can all get on with our evenings. I do, as you see, have quite a lot of work to finish if I am to be able to work on ‘my own studies’ as you put it.”

Dumbledore’s expression hardened and his persistent twinkle almost disappeared entirely. "Or, of course, we could forgo all normal social niceties and move directly to the point, if you insist, Tom.” he conceded dryly. “How are you feeling today?”

The bright cheer didn’t quite sound convincing, Tom thought.

“Have you brought me the potion again?” he asked, ignoring the question. Dumbledore was not a moron. A madman, certainly, but by no means a fool. Obviously Tom had slept when Hermione had stayed with him -the girl would have reported as much. Equally evident was the current state of his bloodshot eyes with faint shadows beneath, which betrayed that he had not had quite as much success in achieving rest since Hermione had been absent. 

There was a pause, which did force Tom to turn, if only to try to read what the old goat’s expression might be communicating.

Dumbledore looked more than a little concerned…   
And was that guilt?! 

“What is it? What’s happened?! What have you done?!” Tom demanded without thinking. “Why are you looking at me like that?!”

Dumbledore smiled thinly, but it held all the warmth of a winter sun. With a sigh, the elderly wizard reached for his teacup and saucer and nursed it in front of him. Tom startled slightly at the alteration he had only just noticed. He studied the gnarled, blackened, claw that had replaced the old wizard’s right hand with as neutral a mien as he could muster.

When had that happened? What had happened, exactly? It definitely hadn’t appeared that way the last time Dumbledore had visited. He scoured his memory again. No. He had gestured, he had held his tea – his hand had been quite normal. Pale and wrinkled and wiry like most old men, but certainly not visibly decomposing. Which meant that at some point in the last….three or four days..., he supposed, something quite dramatic had occurred. And it was either something relatively harmless that had happened in the last few hours – or it was something serious, which could not be remedied.

His mind flew to Draco and he nearly bit his tongue trying to derail his own train of thought before it could start to question whether this was involved in whatever the blonde had been tasked to complete.

“I would like to revisit your views regarding Draco Malfoy, If you would, Tom” was what came finally, although it seemed as if the old man had been about to say something altogether different and had changed his mind at the last moment. Tom felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in fright. Had Dumbledore caught the direction of his thoughts? Had he revealed too much of them? He was certain that his eyes had not been anywhere remotely close to meeting the other wizard’s gaze.   
Perhaps it was a coincidence. It could be, he tried to reassure himself. It was unlikely but possible. 

“Why?” he enquired slowly. “Surely…Hermione… would be the more pertinent topic, in view of her empty promise to return here… 

Dumbledore inclined his head a fraction in acknowledgement  
“Perhaps, however it would be best to begin with young Mr Malfoy, I think.”

Frowning, Tom tried to make out why this might be the case. He had certainly not had any more contact with Draco since he had spent hours levitating the other boy around the more obscure corners of the castle at the whim of the irritating old goat currently sitting opposite him. Dumbledore was sipping delicately at tea that, from its scent, appeared to be some kind of liquid form of the sugary drops he favoured.   
Had Draco perhaps done something to Hermione?   
No… that wouldn’t explain this. Dumbledore would simply deal with it outside this room.

If Draco was being mentioned… perhaps he would be offered the boy instead of Hermione. He had refused to make any of the agreements that Dumbledore had wanted. Perhaps they were no longer necessary. Had Draco betrayed his other self and consented to switch sides – to seek refuge within Dumbledore’s bosom, or even to turn spy?!   
No.. no – if that had occurred, Dumbledore would never place him anywhere near Tom. If Draco had betrayed him… or what was transitively him, in a sense, Tom would destroy the spoilt little fop. And Dumbledore would know that.

“I…” Tom hesitated. “I am not sure what you are asking. You know my views on him well enough. You extracted them from me with potions, as you’ll recall. I will freely admit that I would infinitely prefer to cohabit with Draco in these quarters than Hermione. however I find am unfortunately still not quite prepared to consent to all of your invasive restrictions in order to see him. Perhaps you might reconsider one or two.“

The old wizard glanced away toward the fireplace and actually seemed to be considering the prospect. Tom blinked, surprised and, if he was honest, mildly disquieted. 

“How is Draco?” he probed, testing his suspicions.

At that, Dumbledore’s gaze swept back to him warily. “Would his well-being have any bearing on your willingness to compromise, Tom?”

“As I understand it, it is polite to ask after the health of a mutual acquaintance when they are mentioned in conversation.” he countered, now even more convinced that the old goat was motivated by concern for the Malfoy heir.  
He ignored the faint nudge of worry in the back of his own mind at the thought that Draco might be in such dire circumstance that Dumbledore would consider waiving his own protective measures, purely in order to afford him some shelter within Tom’s glorified little cell.

“ah” the old wizard responded neutrally. “Draco is…” he tapered off, looking troubled. Tom waited.   
“He is…attending classes. He appears to be quite well…” he paused, seemingly undecided, before continuing “He has been exerting himself quite strenuously in his unsuccessful attempts to find his way back here.” At that the piercing blue gaze seemed to waver and drift off toward the fireplace once more. “As I am sure you know, Tom, You are not the most tolerant when it comes to the perceived inadequacies of others.”  
He let the comment hang there ominously. The silence stretched on for long enough that Tom felt he had to fill it with something.

“You could simply allow him to find his way back here – and the problem would be resolved, would it not?!”

Dumbledore sighed. “Would it? I am not so certain. I must consider that it may simply become a different, and possibly even less resolvable problem.” He met Tom’s eyes seriously. “The oaths I ask of you – the restrictions – they are not purely to infuriate you, Tom. They are for your own protection, as well as young Draco, and for the good of the entire wizarding world. Would you not consider agreeing, if it meant you would have companionship here, peaceful rest…”

Tom frowned. “I do not require comp-“

“And what of Draco’s well-being?” Dumbledore interjected in what was almost an impassioned plea. “Would you consider accepting if you knew that your refusal would cause him great suffering? I suspect…I am almost afraid to confirm…that he is being severely mistreated. He has…changed… over the last weeks. I am concerned what will happen to him if he is not soon removed from the reach of your somewhat less reasonable counterpart.” 

That really was the crux of the dilemma however. How could Tom permit Draco to be removed from the reach of his other self?! Draco had to remain free to complete whatever task he had been set, if Tom wanted to ever get out of this little prison work-camp. Surely his other self would not be damaging him to the extent that it would prevent him doing whatever it was he was supposed to be doing?! 

“Well you’re obviously not concerned enough to consider dropping your elevated ‘requirements’” he sniped back in return. “And if you’re not worried enough to act – paragon of goodness and morality that you consider yourself to be - then why in Salazar’s name would you expect me to?!”

This drew another long disappointed sigh from the old wizard.

“I would sincerely like to trust you, Tom. Unfortunately, you have given me very little reason to do so. I have several times given you the benefit of the doubt since your release from the diary, and you have swiftly made foolishness of my hopes for you.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed. This time however, Tom steeled himself to ignore the impulse to say anything that might give Dumbledore reason to think he should offer him some more ‘benefit of the doubt’ regarding Draco. As much as he might like to have the attractive blonde back here with him, and even with the slight disquiet he felt at the thought that Draco might be being ‘mistreated’ in a manner similar to the memory he had witnessed when he had last seen him, he could not endanger what had sounded like the only possible chance for escape he was likely to have.

Finally Dumbledore’s face shifted from disappointment to resignation.  
"Very well then, Tom. Hermione will be returning to the head girl's quarters this evening"

“I don’t want-“ he started, sharply

Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall Tom's protests. “Yes.. I have gathered as much. However, for me to be able to take your objections into consideration, Tom, I would like for you to explain them to me. I remember well that you were not so ill-disposed toward Hermione mere weeks ago. As far as I can discern, she has done nothing to provoke this reaction. I am given to understand that she has even apologised to you for her quite reasonable response to your uninvited appearance in her bed.”

Tom folded his arms, telling himself he was not being childish at all.   
“She’s a bossy dirty-blooded nuisance” he muttered darkly. “She thinks I need her.”

The raised eyebrows of the ancient wizard were commentary enough to set him off.

“I don’t need her!! I don’t need anyone – not you, not anyone, and least of all HER! She dares… DARES to talk down to me as if I were beneath her…as if I were some feeble-brained child she was minding.” He gestured wildly, fisting his hands in anger. “She is continuously defiant, argumentative, provocative - Not to mention that she prances about in the most indecent attire and yet I am accused of impropriety toward her! As if one could be improper toward a mudblood! They have no standing – no history – they should be thankful that they are allowed to so much as serve in the wizarding world! – they are a blight on-“

He petered out. The disappointed and resigned look had returned and was now edged with disgust. Tom reluctantly calmed himself and returned his arms to the folded pose that was not at all defensive.   
“I dislike her for many reasons. I do not wish her here.” he stated as quietly and calmly as he could manage. He suspected he did not manage it as well as he hoped.

The old wizard seemed to examine him pensively before once more turning and staring into the fire, lost in thought. Tom was relieved. He had half expected some form of lecture about wizarding blood equality.   
yes… the conversations, news articles and essays of the last few weeks had shown that there did appear to be some halfway capable mudbloods in this time (and some thoroughly moronic purebloods)… and ok, fine, the mudblood witch had demonstrated some advanced knowledge in some areas… and admittedly she was occasionally entertaining to provoke… and obviously an attractive specimen… but those factors were all the more reason to keep her as far away as possible – because she was also a distraction, a pointless, arrogant, smug little distraction. And a filthy mudblood.  
He didn’t need her.

The only sound was the quiet hiss and crackle of the flames. After regarding him solemnly with a profoundly disappointed expression for several minutes, Dumbledore at last sighed heavily and seemed to come to some kind of inner decision. 

"if that is how you feel, Tom, then I do not think I, or indeed anyone, can help you."

He left shortly afterward, without even bothering to touch on any other topics he might have had in mind, if 'we might begin with Draco' had been any indication.

And then the room was empty once more. Somehow even more empty than it had been before the irritating old man had stopped by.

Tom told himself he was relieved, but didn't quite manage to feel it. 

With his own heavy sigh, he trudged back to the desk and turned his attention to second year transfiguration assignments.


	20. Chapter 20

Tom stirred slowly at the recognition of a sound that had no doubt been going on for some time. It had probably begun as a polite knock and escalated to the presently obnoxiously loud banging over the course of his inattention.  
He hadn’t heard it. Hadn’t noticed a thing. It was the faint tingle informing him of the slipping of his warded sticking charm that had roused him. Whoever it was - and there was a painfully limited range of entirely unwelcome guests to choose from - they had evidently just decided to supplement their banging with counter charms, probably in preparation to burst in and check on his health. 

With a sinking feeling, he acknowledged to himself that they were probably right to question. He had once again not been asleep. Worse, he had not intended to ‘meditate’ – had not even noticed himself slip into the trancelike state that was fast becoming his number one concern

His eyes, when they slid in the direction of the opening door, felt dry and gritty and he had to blink them hard a few times to clear them.

He was treated to the unimpeded sight of a mountain of curls and an expression that vacillated somewhere between worry and frustration.

Thus far, in the three days since she had moved back into the shared head rooms, he had managed to avoid Hermione almost completely, with the exception of one awkward morning. Obviously hoping to catch him out of his room, she had not taken herself off to the great hall for breakfast at the usual time and he found her waiting nervously as he descended to consume his own plate (under invisible watchful house elf eyes of course). It was quite satisfying to ignore her fumbling attempts to start a conversation with him, nevertheless he did not unnecessarily prolong the experience, finishing his buttered toast as quickly as was dignified and returning to his room without a word. He had resolved not to waste any further time on the unworthy creature and that entailed derailing all of her attempts to cause him to waste his time noticing her presence. Necessity was truly the mother of invention. The need to not be stuck conveniently accessible in the heads common for hours marking assignments had provoked him to think about the issue laterally. 

He could not take any of the assignments up to his room and he could not use magic in the common area, but he had gotten around the limitation by using animated-linking charms. These charms were more commonly known in the static form, often seen in communication mirrors or window glass charmed to show a view of a distant location, such as those in the Slytherin dormrooms, which showed various hilled Scottish outlooks, despite the fact that the walls in which the windows were placed were many metres underwater or, in fact, backed on other dormrooms. The animated variant of the linking charm was rarely seen. It enabled two identical items to be connected remotely in such a way that the physical movements of one were duplicated by the other in whatever space it might be placed. Perhaps Dumbledore had not considered that he might master such advanced level charms. He had found them in Slytherin’s library after all. Perhaps Dumbledore himself did not know of them, although Tom thought it rather unlikely. The man, for all his aggravating tendencies and moral high horse, was extraordinarily knowledgeable in the most obscure areas of magic.

The ‘tools’ he had constructed using the charms were simple things - duplicated pairs each of eyeglass, glove and quill, by which means he could now remotely view the desk surface, don his own glove to interact with it and utilise his own uninked quill to remotely write with its twin on the desk downstairs. As a result he still spent hours and hours on mindless tripe but now only had to physically go down to have his meals, as it appeared that the house elves did not have access to his room when he was in it and due to the interfering observation of his diet, his meals refused to be moved from the vicinity of the unseen house elf. Luckily though, his eyeglass now made it quite simple to keep tabs on Hermione’s movement and time his meals for when she was absent – which happily almost always coincided with meal times in the great hall.

“You are awake!”

Tom made a conscious effort to appear alert, focused, disapproving and dismissive all at once.

“I am. I was simply uninterested in speaking with you. Take the hint and trundle yourself off elsewhere now”

“You didn’t answer…” came the reproachful reply as Hermione lingered in the doorway indecisively. Obviously, she had been made aware that he was able to use his magic within the confines of his room, as she had not ventured to seek him out up here yet. She was becoming bolder, for lack of other options, it seemed.

“I did not answer, in the hope that you would interpret it as a polite refusal to speak with you” he responded blandly. “What exactly do you require, Hermione?”

The girl shifted uncomfortably, wrong footed.  
“I… nothing…well… I didn’t require anything, as such. I thought you might need… That is…I haven’t seen you since..”

She trailed off with an infuriatingly knowing look and a disingenuous nibble of her bottom lip. Really, could the witch be any more transparent?! As pretty as she might be, she was hardly a seductress.

He gave her a slow even look. “Is that so. Well, by all means, come in and ply your wares.”

The change in her disposition was delightful. Tom struggled to keep a straight face. The bright red flush and furious insult skewing her pleasant features into those of a fiery harridan- He could almost hear her grinding teeth. 

“I don’t have to help you, you know! Must you be an offensive little creep every time I try to be friendly?! It’s getting old, Tom. And you aren’t. We’ve been over this already!”  
The brunette appeared to forcibly restrain herself from further unhelpful remarks, clenching her fists for a moment and taking a deep breath.  
“Look… I don’t want anything from you. We have already discussed this. You need to sleep, Tom. I’m sure you’ll know yourself whether or not you have been able to. If you are still having trouble with it – I am here and I am prepared to let you sleep next to me – JUST sleep, nothing else!  
…After all that was what you wanted, remember. …You threatened me.. you…you cursed me… we’ve been over this.” She hesitated and figeted on the spot again. “I have no idea what exactly I’ve done to make you this upset. I apologise for insulting your age again. I…I shouldn’t have. But you infuriate me sometimes!!. …Sorry… Sorry again!” The girl looked uncertain and guilty. “I…I’m really sorry, Tom. Please? Can you at least tell me what I’ve done? Surely if we talk about it-“

He rolled his eyes. “No thank you. Off you toddle now.”

This seemed to set off something for the witch. A kind of fervour ignited in her eyes. He hadn’t seen an expression quite like it on her face thus far. She set her jaw and stepped determinedly into his room – only a few steps, he noted. Certainly near enough to dive back out into the stairwell, should he curse her. Her terse voice when she spoke was belied by the continued desperation in her eyes and the slight fluttering of her hands, as if she really wanted to wring them in front of her.

“What exactly do you want then?! You’re a slytherin – well, you’re famed for it obviously – so let’s negotiate! I am sure we can reach some kind of middle ground where you are able to get past whatever the hell I have supposedly done to you and interact with me reasonably again in order to save your own life.”

He allowed his lips to curl into the faintest of smirks and lifted one hand to indicate that she should move closer. After a few moments anxious hesitation in which she was no doubt calculating the odds of danger versus benefit she moved another two measured steps further into the room. 

“What are you offering?” he asked quietly, pinning her gaze with his own.

“I… I don’t…” she floundered briefly before pulling herself back together and trying hopefully “books? I’ll bring you the books you wanted?”

Tom snorted derisively. “No. I have access to the books I require now through Dumbledore. What else do you have?”

“My Sched-“

“I no longer care to know your schedule, Hermione. As it turned out, it was not necessary to begin with. I gained all the information I required about the wards and security preparations while you were ignoring me. …And before you rush off to notify Dumbledore – He already knows. I am afraid you will need to offer me something more valuable if you think to gain information worth passing along. As things stand, there is little that he does not already know and, of that little, nothing that I would willingly confide to you.”

“What do you want, then?! I won’t sleep with you. Well I will sleep with you, but I won’t sleep..that is… you know what I mean!”

Ah, the harried tone. Tom’s smirk widened. Now… what would be too much… not so much that she would storm out in a huff but more than her delicate sensibilities would allow…

“I would like for you to be unclothed when I sleep next to you…”

A gasped. “No!” Hermione’s expression suggested this was scandalous. “No – I won’t do that! …besides…I… I can’t sleep…without… anyway. I’d end up just as sleep deprived as you are.

He gave the appearance of considering this fairly, frowning slightly.  
“I would be willing to give an oath not to take advantage of your …more accessible physical virtues…” he lied.

“No. No it’s not up for discussion” she said firmly. “What about a pet? You seemed to like spending time with Crooks, my cat. I’m sure I could persuade Professor Dumbledore to let me get you a cat of your own.”

Another eyeroll. “Hermione – your cat spent time with me. Not the other way around. I do not require a pet. I have never felt the slightest inclination to cuddle something generally considered by the vapid masses to be ‘adorable’. Not even once, in my many decades of isolation, did I ever think ‘If only there were a cat here so that I might convert my natural curiosity about sexual intimacy with a female into a far more harmless childlike clinging to something safe, warm and soft.”

The witch looked mildly disgruntled at that. “I am not childishly clinging to my cat to avoid sex”

“Of course not” he soothed insincerely. “Perhaps you might bring me another witch – one more amenable?”  
He already knew that this would be refused outright – and of course it was. Hermione offered him ‘adult magazines’ instead, looking very uncomfortable about doing so.

He actually considered it for a fraction of a second before shaking his head at himself, inwardly chuckling. No. Why would he want further concrete examples of what he could not presently access?! The texts in the esoteric section of slytherin’s library and his own mind had been sufficient on that front. What he had wanted was to touch.. to taste.. to experience. Moreover, he had wanted this witch specifically. He had wanted to touch her…explore her. She should belong to him. It was only fitting.  
No! He startled, correcting himself again. No – That wasn’t right. Where did that blasted thought slink in from yet again?! He didn’t want her at all. Not anymore. She was a disloyal, difficult mudblooded distraction and not at all as intelligent as Dumbledore had wanted him to think. He had NO remaining interest in her whatsoever!! Better that she were elsewhere, where she would not bother him anymore.

“How is Draco? Perhaps you might be willing to bring him by for an hour or so. I did so enjoy our time together last time. …But then I’m sure you recall that yourself. You were there, after all.” he needled. 

He wasn’t certain what the flicker of emotion that passed through Hermione’s eyes meant. It was so fleeting. She told him flatly that she didn’t speak with Draco often, so wasn’t really sure how he might be doing, and that allowing him here was Professor Dumbledore’s decision but that she would ask about it. 

“It seems then, that there is really nothing you can offer me that I desire, Hermione. Hardly a surprise… “ he gifted her with a mild sneer “I am tiring of this conversation now and as there is obviously no point to your presence here, I suggest you leave now before I put you to better use as a target dummy.”

The abrupt shift in his mood seemed to jolt the witch and she flinched back a half step before steeling herself to stop again. A solidifying of the unhappy determined expression on her face made Tom want to sigh in exasperation.

“You can’t just –“ she started, and he could hear the bossy rant gathering its steam and preparing to launch.

“I can. I just did.” He flicked a harmless stinging hex at her, catching her on the hip and effectively cutting her off with her own startled squeak. “The next one will be a real hex. Leave, Hermione”

Her glare was wonderful, however she didn’t storm out as he had expected. Rather she actually seemed to put down firmer roots, her stance widening stubbornly. 

He wondered whether he would get into very much trouble if he hexed her with something moderately nasty. He had warned her after all and she would not desist. It wouldn’t matter though. Dumbledore would make him regret doing it. It really was not worth the hassle that would undoubtedly arise for him out of it.  
He raised his hand and ‘pushed’ her in the direction of the door. 

Thrown off balance, her shoes sliding on the flagstones, Hermione drew her wand fluidly and cast a protego even as she reached with the other hand for the door frame that was approaching her from behind, trying to stem herself against it.

“Tom!” she yelped imperatively even as she managed to momentarily dispel the force acting against her. He raised a questioning eyebrow condescendingly.  
“Stop! You know I’m only trying to help you!”

“I do not require your help.” He muttered again and waved off her shield with ease, before resuming pushing her in the direction of the stairs.

The girl spluttered in panicked frustration. “Ok! I.. I need your help. We.. we all need your help! Please!!”

Tom snorted in cynical amusement. What made the witch believe he had the faintest care for that argument? Had she no inkling of his desires and motivations?! Altruism was not among them.

Hermione meanwhile had dispelled his wandless spell again and was casting a much stronger shield, preparing to argue once more. 

“There is no purpose in further discussion” he informed her matter-of-factly. “There were very few things you might have offered me. In the meantime I have changed my mind about wanting even those things and you would never have willingly gifted them anyway, thus there remains nothing that you could offer that I would desire. The negotiation is at an end. Goodnight Hermione.”

He flicked her level three shield away with a dismissive gesture and this time did not bother with physical force spells, placing a minor compulsion on her to leave immediately and not return.  
Her confused expression as she turned on her heel and walked off down the stairs was at least mildly satisfying. He waved the door closed gently and was left in the utter stillness…utter silence…of his room. 

But he was used to a still silent environment. It hardly mattered. 

 

_ _ _ 

 

The air vibrated.. He felt warm.. Not yet awake he turned his face very slightly toward the sensation like a plant seeking the sun.

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

Harry. 

He rose further toward consciousness and felt the dead weight inertia of his body like a cocoon all around him. His throat was full of a thick dusty dryness and his field of vision was dark and foggy – it seemed that his eyes had become virtually blind through lack of movement and the prolonged exposure to air. How long had he been ‘meditating’ this time?!! 

“He… he doesn’t sleep harry! He keeps slipping into this catatonia whenever he is by himself and it’s getting worse! Professor Dumbledore doesn’t know what to do! Tranquilisers aren’t particularly effective on him and somnus variants just put him into this state after a few minutes – He isn’t sleeping!… well.. He sleeps when I’m there but-“

“So why don’t you just sit with him while he sleeps?!! God, Hermione, look at him! This isn’t right! How could you just leave him like this?!”

Tom elected to remain still and not draw their attention toward him. This was a conversation that he suspected could be of benefit to him.

“ Yes.. well – AS I was saying, Harry, - he sleeps when I am close to him but he won’t allow me around him anymore! I had to actually tranquilise myself to get him to accept it the first time and I think he might have refused if he wasn’t on the verge of physical collapse anyway. He slept for days! On Wednesday night he’d probably been awake for almost the same length of time and he wouldn’t even talk about it. He put a compulsion on me to leave him alone! Professor Dumbledore would have picked it up if I’d had any meetings with him but he’s off doing.. whatever it is he does when he disappears for days. I didn’t realise there was anything wrong! How could I?! It was a compulsion hex!! If not for the house elves panicking and reporting to Professor Snape that Tom hadn’t called for any meals since Wednesday…. God.. Harry. He could have died!”

The rather soggy sniffle suggested that Hermione was fairly distraught at this prospect. Tom wanted to roll his eyes. 

“He hexed you?! That little-“ Harry’s words devolved into a furious muttering before he snarled again more clearly “Why didn’t the house elves check on him for three days?!! Actually why didn’t someone…anyone… notice he’d hexed you?! I thought Dumbledore had wards and protections and everything all over this place to make sure you were safe?! Shouldn’t they warn someone or.. or..stop him attacking others or something?! What the hell is Dumbledore playing at?!” 

Another gaspy snivel from the girl “The elves can’t enter Tom’s room when he’s in it, Harry – Professor Dumbledore thought the risk was too great that he might imperius one and use it to escape somehow. And they report to professors, just like I do. But… but professor Dumbledore must have been too busy…the situation wasn’t ideal. Professor Snape doesn’t have full access to Tom anymore after…well… you were there, Harry... You know what he did, I suppose. He should have checked on things days ago. Apparently some of the professors had been complaining that the work they sent through to Tom hadn’t returned and Professor Snape had just assumed Tom had simply ‘willfully’ decided not to do it anymore. But with the house elves going frantic and professor Dumbledore still goodness knows where, he couldn’t really ignore it any more, could he?! So he sent for me to try to find out what was going on and that’s when he found the compulsion. I don’t like to criticise the headmaster – Professor Dumbledore is a great man - but none of this would have happened if someone had a way of contacting him when he goes off wherever he goes.”  
There was the sound of the witch taking a deep gaspy breath in the wake of her rant.

“Fucking Snape! Bloody useless git of a dungeon bat! Of course he decided to ignore it for days before checki- wait. What work?! What’s he been doing?!”

There was a silence that nevertheless had a guilty flavour to it.  
“He… he has been helping the professors with marking the lower years assignments.”

“Helping? Him. Really?!”

Another guilty pause.

“Hermione…” Harry’s voice pressed.

“….Professor Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea …to keep him busy doing something useful and tire him out so that he’d sleep… or maybe be more open to suggestion. I don’t really know. All I know is that he is marking all the lower year assignments and tests for most of the professors. He’d have to be doing hours and hours of work every day to keep up with it!! He wasn’t supposed to be able to take the work upstairs- it was supposed to keep him in the common room so that he’d be more accessible but I haven’t seen him at all this week. He must have found some way around the charms and wards because the professors were receiving the assignments and tests back till Wednesday afternoon even if I never saw him doing them.”

There was a long moment of tension during which Tom realised he could actually feel Harry’s magic churning like thunderclouds.

“Bloody hell… I can’t believe you’d go along with this! …LOOK at him!! Just LOOK, Hermione!! He looks half dead! Why didn’t you tell me what was going on sooner?! Why didn’t you do something?! You’ve got enough sympathy for house elves!! Why not him?! He… he said he was having trouble sleeping. I didn’t think…. Fuck… this is my fault too. I should have done more. I should have made Dumbledore-“

That was probably just about all he was going to get out of the conversation, Tom thought. Besides, his dry throat was starting to tickle uncomfortably with each breath. With surprising difficulty, Tom managed to close his wide open, snow-blind eyes. Perhaps if he rested them they wouldn’t require any healing? He blinked hard with his eyes closed a few times, trying to force his tear ducts to supply some moisture.

“It is quite rude to talk about someone as if they were not present” he managed to croak out through his dry throat.

There was a caught-breath silence and then an unbearable sensation of pins and needles arcing through him as his hand was snatched up by harry and gripped. He grimaced and tugged on it ineffectually.

“What are you doing?! Stop – look – you’re hurting him. Stop, Harry.”

His hand was, reluctantly it seemed, released. 

“Here Tom”  
Hermione’s solicitous voice.  
“I’ll help you up and you can drink a little water, ok”

He felt a careful arm burrow itself beneath his shoulders and then he was hoisted up with almost no effort at all. A glass rim placed itself against his lips and he parted them, feeling dry skin tear slightly.

Cool water flowed into his mouth, delicious… soothing… The first swallow hurt but after that he felt better and better the more he drank. 

“Ok… that’s enough for the moment or you might be sick.” Hermione murmured from somewhere near to his left ear. The glass was removed. He frowned, discontented at this, now that he felt suddenly aware of how very thirsty he was.  
His eyes, when he opened them, showed a blurry view of the distant wall of his room. He blinked them some more. They were sore.

“Tom…” Harry sounded subdued and remorseful. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I should have –“

He turned his gaze creakingly in the other boy’s direction.

Harry was a fuzzy abstraction but even through that, Tom could make out that his luminous green eyes were large and glossy with regret right now and the messy black hair was even more dishevelled than it had been in his memory, as if the other boy had been running his hands through it in frustration. He wore his uniform but the tie was askew as if he had been tugging on it and one side of his shirt had come untucked from his pants and hung below his jersey. 

“Harry..” he gravelled softly. “it’s been a while.”

He smirked when this set the other boy off again and waved a hand dismissively at the apology and verbal self-flagellation. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll stay now, won’t you?”

This stilled both of his ‘guests’. Hermione, who had been fluttering about near the head of his bed anxiously, froze. He didn’t need to see her expression – it was reflected on Harry’s face.  
“Er… “ was the eloquent reply he received.

“I… I don’t think that Professor Dumbledore will allow Harry to come here, Tom. I brought him today because I just didn’t know what…”

“Yes. I’ll stay” Harry interrupted. “I’ll talk Dumbledore into it somehow. I won’t let him fob me off this time!! Don’t worry. This won’t happen again.”

Tom gifted him with a smile that would have had Professor Slughorn eating out of his hand and was gratified to observe the slight pinking of the other boy’s cheeks. 

“Um…. Harry… Could I talk to you outside for a-“

“No, Mione. You said yourself – You tried. Its alright. But he’s going to… he’s going to get sicker if someone doesn’t stay with him and there isn’t really anyone else. It’ll be fine!”

The curly haired witch moved back into Tom’s line of sight, pacing back toward Harry and gesturing flamboyantly with her hands “It won’t be fine, Harry! Look.. you can’t stay here with him. It’s… it’s not safe! I shouldn’t have even brought you into this room. I should have levitated him downstairs or something. I shouldn’t even be in here. Professor Dumbledore warned-“

With a groan of exasperation, Harry virtually spat “It’s FINE, Hermione. Just stop, ok?! Go and…study or something. Go and tell Snape what happened. I’ll stay here with Tom. “

Tom smirked faintly at the horror and renewed round of protests this provoked. Nevertheless, five minutes later, proving once again Harry’s position of power when it came to his ‘friend’, Hermione was dithering on the threshold of his room, prepared to go and relate to the potions professor what the situation was. Harry was still not leaving, despite all the nagging, warning, pleading and bargaining that he had been subjected to.  
It was a far more pleasant texture of silence that fell when the downstairs door had slammed shut after the little harridan. Tom let his eyes, which were slowly coming right now, even if they were still a little blurry and sore, drift back to fall upon his tragically attractive enemy.

“So…” he prompted softly. “how have you been faring, Harry? I hope that you have not remained in order to try to coerce some spell or other out of me. I fear I am not quite up to a lesson at present.”

The guilt and regret on the other boy’s face was delicious. His face fell and he scuffed forward, appalling posture and all, to sit heavily on the side of Tom’s bed.  
“I’ve already apologised for that.” He frowned unhappily. “And paid for it, or whatever the term is, too.” Veridian eyes slid back up to meet Tom’s own hazy gaze. “I’ve been worried about you. Dumbledore wouldn’t let me come back to see you – said it was too dangerous and that you refused to promise not to hurt me or something. Did you? Refuse, I mean? Are you planning on killing me?”

Tom couldn’t suppress the snort of amusement. Gryffindors! Synonym for idiots, really.  
“If I were, Harry, I’d hardly tell you, would I?! Besides… if that were my objective, I could have incinerated your heart in your chest before you even realised I was aware of you – and the mudblood…pardon me – muggleborn – directly after.” He chuckled at the way the other boy’s face fell into familiar self-recrimination and betrayal.  
“I will tell you that I did refuse to make an oath not to kill you, or to plot to kill you, or to harm a hair on your rather aesthetically pleasing head – how in Merlin’s name was I supposed to make an oath of that nature while some other version of me is actively breaking it at any given moment?! It was ridiculous and a blatant attempt on the old man’s part to trick me into forfeiting my magic.  
I will not become a squib purely to earn the right to see you – with a chaperone – and solely in the context of teaching you defensive magic. That would be asinine!”

“Oh...” Harry responded eloquently, wearing an expression of uncertainty.  
At Tom’s raised eyebrows, he elaborated “... That’s not the impression I was given.” 

He seemed to think this over some more, his expression wandering through unease to resignation with a tinge of anger. Evidently he did not think it impossible that Dumbledore might employ such an unethical trick  
His face brightened slightly then, incongruously - “So you’re not going to –“

Tom interrupted the predictable question with a mild stinging hex to the tip of the other boy’s nose. Said boy yelped and clapped his hand over the offending proboscis, glaring over the top of it at Tom. “What the fuck?!!”

“Define ‘harm’, Harry. We have already covered this, although I concede it was a while ago and Gryffindors are said to have the attention span of nifflers on pepperup potion. So – once again - if I wished to harm you, you would already be dead. If you are breathing now, the chances of my suddenly changing my mind and striking you dead in the next five minutes are fairly low.  
…I cannot abide mysteries, you see. I need to have the answers. Until I understand just why it feels so peculiarly pleasant to be close to you, I cannot even think of dispatching you.”

Ignoring the tentative smile this produced in the green eyed youth, Tom attempted to force weak limbs to obey and push himself up in the bed, so that he might assess the extent of the latest damage to his body.  
It didn’t work so well. His arms felt like someone had replaced the muscles with over-tightened rubber bands and his back creaked in protest.

“Are you..”

“No! I’m not ok, Harry. Obviously. You see that.” He snapped, irritated with his own weakness. He gestured at the wall and transfigured the stone into a reflective surface. At least his magic responded adequately, he grumbled to himself. Traitorous flesh! Stop all biological function for a few measly days and the whole thing collapses. Poor design! Now before him he could see an image of himself – ashen faced and pasty - , the bed and Harry’s face, contorted in surprise.  
Last time he had needed to cast this spell, he had not really been thinking as coherently as he should have been, clearly, or he would not have thought the simplest solution to be the magically taxing art of legilimency rather than a simple second year transfiguration spell. 

The light flares were nowhere near as dramatic and unsettling this time around. He was severely dehydrated, obviously. The orange shading around his head might have something to do with the sleep deprivation, he surmised. Some yellow and orange pulsing over his torso could be his kidneys or some other internal organ perhaps. There was a faint pinkish tinge to most of his body though.. He thought it might be muscle related. 

“What does it mean? Is it bad?” Harry spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want to break Tom’s concentration. “-Do you need Madam Pomfrey?”

Tom sighed. He suspected that the School nurse would not come without Dumbledore’s say so, either way. And as for the Potions master – well…why offer the man a chance to poison him?!  
“No. I’ll be fine. Go and draw me a bath” he ordered softly and was gratified to see the other boy immediately move in the direction of the bathroom.

He paged through his memory of the medical texts that he had read. True – he had had no chance to test most of the spells, since they required an actual injury to determine whether they had worked or not, however he was feeling truly awful at present – He felt weak, dizzy and a little nauseous, though that might have been the water, as Hermione had warned. His vision was still a little blurry and his entire body, but especially his back, ached!! - In light of this, he was willing to chance it on his ability to carry out spells correctly on the first try. 

The rehydration spell didn’t seem to do a lot either way. He couldn’t be sure it had worked. He didn’t like to cast it again though, just in case that caused a new set of problems. If he could just get himself into a hot bath, perhaps the aching in his joints and in his back might ease.  
After a few tries, he managed to drag and maneuver himself until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing from the other night – the last thing he really remembered – the night of the altercation wth Hermione. He recalled her leaving; recalled becoming suddenly aware of the silence of his room… and then…nothing. Had he truly slipped away so quickly?! Hermione was right – it was getting worse.

He looked up from the flagstone he had been staring at and met the sight of Harry, kneeling on the floor next to the bath, his jersey in a pile on the floor beside him and one sleeve rolled up as he stirred the bathwater, mixing the temperature.

Harry had to have grown up in the muggle world, Tom realised suddenly. Magical faucets and fixtures did not work like that. They distributed temperature evenly. It was a charm invented in the last century by a swiss wizard. Abraxas had bragged that his family was related to the man and reminded them that their bathing pleasure was due to the merits of his esteemed ancestors.  
Tom recalled the same repeating swirling hand movement that Harry was using from the matron in the orphanage on bath night. It was not a pleasant association, all things considered.  
Tom had loathed bath night.  
There were a lot of children at Wools, and never very much hot water at the best of times. Bath night was, in a sense, bath week, since every night of the week a different section of the orphans would get a chance at the bath. It was divided roughly into groups of seven or eight per night. The ‘favoured’ children would have the chance to have the first bath of the evening. They, therefore, had a lovely warm bath with fresh water and perhaps even some suds.  
Tom had never been one of the favoured children. He had always been given the last bath of the night. The water would be lukewarm to cold and it would usually be grimy grey brown with an oily skin by the time he got there. He felt dirtier after bathing than he had been before.

He stirred, slightly startled to find Harry standing in front of him. Only a moment ago he had been kneeling by the bath.

Harry looked worried.

“Tom.. you were gone again, weren’t you?! Fuck.. this is bad. Why is it happening?! What’s wrong with you?! Have you seen Madame Pomfrey? Has Dumbledore done any tests or anything?”

It was very difficult for Tom to prevent his shoulders from hunching defensively. He managed it just barely and raised his eyebrows imperiously at the other boy. “I was not gone. I was merely lost in thought. I realise it may not have ever happened to you before but I’m sure you’ve seen others thinking – perhaps Ravenclaws.“

Harry didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.  
“Can you walk?” he asked pensively.

Tom wanted to snarl something appropriate but he was not entirely sure himself whether he would be able to make it to the bathroom on his own steam. His body felt very stiff and heavy.  
He shifted his legs and leaned forward, ignoring the protest in his back.  
There. His feet were on the floor. If he leaned forward a bit more he could just…. Just.. overbalance and fall face first onto the flagstones. 

He didn’t of course. Two large hands landed protectively on his shoulders and balanced him lightly. But for a second he had vividly seen the bloom of blood from his nose when his arms were not able to catch him in time, hanging like heavy slabs of barely living flesh at his sides.

He looked up, meeting Harry’s calm deep green eyes and hating how weak and helpless he felt right now.  
This problem with sleeping had to stop. Immediately. He could not risk falling into whatever state he now habitually fell into and ending up physically impaired.. perhaps even permanently damaged.

“So that would be a ‘no’ then?” Harry observed wryly.

“I’m sure I could get there eventually” Tom muttered back, looking down and swallowing his mortification. “But since you probably don’t have all day, perhaps you might assist me this once”

There was a pause. Eventually, wondering what was wrong, he chanced a glance back up at the other boy. It seemed that Harry had been waiting for just that. He wore a soft, earnest expression, as if he was willing Tom to listen and understand him.  
“I don’t have to be anywhere else, Tom. In fact there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now and I’ll help you whenever you need it, Ok? You don’t need to feel embarrassed. I’ve been in worse condition than this. You’ll be ok. We’ll figure out what’s wrong and you’ll get better.” He smiled and Tom almost wanted to just sigh and accept it.”

Almost.  
“Oh well then, everything is just a bouquet of sunshine promises and hope serenades then, isn’t it? In view of that unnecessary sappiness, I won’t trouble my mind as to whether I might go mad, catatonic or comatose at any given time and we can both rejoice in my weakness and utter degradation. Call the prophet – perhaps they can immortalise the moment so that my other self might appreciate the galling circumstance second hand.”

Harry’s smile dropped like a lead balloon and he rolled his eyes.  
“Or you could be a twat about it. That would work too”

Tom gasped as he was suddenly turned and then scooped up into Harry’s arms like a tired child being carried to bed. He could feel that prickling energy that seemed to overwhelm his nerves whenever Harry touched him. In his present state, it wasn’t particularly pleasant. It still felt a lot like pins and needles and he squirmed a little, trying to lean away from the radiating effect.

“Sorry” Harry mumbled, although he didn’t sound particularly sorry and even held Tom more closely, cradling him against his chest and walking carefully to the bathroom.  
When he lowered him back down to the ground, he seemed to take his time about it, and only reluctantly let him go completely. When Tom looked up, he noticed with a sinking feeling that the other boy’s pupils were almost completely dilated. Obviously, Harry was experiencing the full exhilarating rush of their contact. It was only a pity that Tom himself was not able to share the pleasure. 

“Do you need help taking off –“

“No!” Tom cut him off. “No. Thank you. That will do. I can manage from here.”

“Oh..” Harry sounded disappointed and continued to linger uneasily. Tom strenuously ignored the appealing way the other boy fidgeted and bit his lip nervously, and instead concentrated upon persuading his arms to cooperate in dragging off his jersey vest. He was unreasonably pleased with himself when he was able to fling it to the floor.

“You are still here for some reason, Harry” he observed quietly, while struggling with his buttons. They were proving a lot more difficult to negotiate.

“Yes. Yes well.. you almost fell over a minute ago. If I leave you alone, you might drown in the bath or something. Don’t worry.. I won’t look if it makes you uncomfortable. But… but I should probably hang around, just in case.”. 

“ah.” He responded noncommittally and gave up, finally, on trying to force his incompetent fingers to the task of unbuttoning his shirt. It took little more than a vague gesture to wandlessly cast the disrobing spell. He even managed to remain balanced while his trousers wriggled down his legs and off him.

He could feel Harry’s focused attention. He didn’t even need to look up at the other boy.  
Besides… if he looked up and saw that look on Harry’s face again. That “I feel like a funny-uncle” look…  
It was just better that he didn’t look up now.

He also didn’t think his legs were going to cooperate with the maneuver required to get into the bath from a precarious standing position.  
“Even if it might appear that I am falling…. Just don’t touch me” he demanded absently, while casting a cushioning charm on the floor.

It was needed. He didn’t quite manage to lower himself to the ground in a controlled manner and would have probably bruised his knees on the tiles that he crashed down upon.  
Harry was on the floor beside him almost before he’d landed, fussing and trying to grab him again. He didn’t bother snapping this time. He’d already warned the boy. The proximity shield he cast had originally been created to protect young witches’ virtue and would originally have been cast by the head of the family upon the children. It served just as valid a purpose in keeping Harry’s overenthusiastic assistance at bay. And the yelp and flinching back from him in horror was quite pleasing too.

“Fuck!!.. What the hell was that?! … Bloody hell… my hands!! What did you do that for?! Is there a countercharm? Only – I do actually need the skin on my palms! And I don’t mean to whine or anything but it bloody hurts!.”

Tom smirked. “I did tell you not to touch me. I am finding the sensation exceedingly unpleasant right now. I would prefer you restrained yourself until I can recover somewhat. Do not take it as a rejection, Harry, merely a deferral. I will heal your hands when I am settled in the bath, if you can be patient for another minute…”

It took a good deal longer than a minute to drag himself into the bath and get his breath back. Nevertheless, Harry knelt at the side and neither moved to try to touch him again nor made so much as a peep despite the red raw muscle exposed across both of his palms where they had come into contact with the proximity shield. Finally Tom was lying comfortably beneath the warm water and able to relax. 

“Your hands then.” He sighed. It wasn’t guilt that was niggling at him to heal the other boy, obviously. It was just good sense not to upset a potential ally unnecessarily. 

The red exposed flesh was gingerly extended toward him. Tom glanced up curiously only to find that Harry had half turned his body away from the bath and was firmly averting his eyes. There was a bloom of pink high on his cheekbones.

For the moment, it was probably for the best, Tom rationalised. It hardly mattered if it felt a little bit like that appalled rejection he was continuously receiving from the mudblood. “Oh god… I don’t want to see you naked!!” If Harry were to desire to see him naked at present, then he might desire to touch him, kiss him…perhaps even more.  
And as the sensation of the other boy’s touch felt rather similar to electrified maggots beneath frostbitten skin right now, it was not the ideal time to suddenly become the object of Harry’s desire.

Raising his hands out of the water so that they cupped but did not touch the other boy’s, very softly Tom sung a healing charm specific to skin ailments and skin regeneration. There was no simple countercharm to a proximity ward, naturally. He wondered idly whether Harry didn’t recognise what had caused the damage or didn’t realise wards could not have countercharms, while he watched what appeared to be strands of silvery silk, but were actually strands of magic infused protein and lipid, draw out of the frayed edge of the area of skin that had been magically sheared away and spiderweb themselves across the raw muscle.  
Another glance up at the owner of the hands revealed that Harry had now turned back to face him and appeared utterly fascinated by the process that was underway. 

“Can you..” he started distractedly and then seemed to catch himself. Guiltily his eyes flickered to meet Tom’s own before lowering deferentially. “-Nevermind.”

“Can I teach you this?” Tom guessed – correctly if the slight ducking of the other boy’s head was any indication. “I don’t know. I would have to gauge your current knowledge of healing.”

This elicited a wry snort. “Let me guess – we’d start with episky and work our way up to it?!”

“Do you want me to finish healing you? – I could explain the charm to you and tell you to have at it yourself?!” Tom growled back irritated. “You are only injured because I specifically told you not to do something and you were seemingly unable to prevent yourself disobeying!”

The half restored hands were yanked back out of the range of his healing charm and he was met with glaring green shards of fire when he raised his gaze and opened his mouth to bark a demand.

“Don’t worry then. Next time I’ll just watch you fall down and injure yourself even more. Do you need me to talk to you to keep you in the here and now or is it good enough if I just sit here?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “If you wish to be snotty about it, then no – it is not necessary for us to talk. It is not necessary for you to remain at all, if you want to leave.”

Silence. Harry had turned away again and was determinedly studying the tiles on the floor.

Tom closed his eyes and tried to ignore the, as ever, wilfully difficult twit. 

This strange, almost peaceful, mutual animosity was the scene that greeted Hermione when she dashed in anxiously ten minutes later.  
She slapped a hand to her eyes and apologised, flustered, the moment she processed the scene. 

“Oh god… why are you always naked?! For pete’s sake! Are you doing it on purpose?!”

Tom smirked to himself, his mood now much improved by the mere opportunity to discomfort the girl yet again 

“Look.. You need to get dressed. Harry – help him or.. or I’ll help if you’d rather Tom. Professor Snape is downstairs. He.. er… Well… just dress ok?!”

 

-

 

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU GIVE ME DETENTION. GIVE ME DETENTION TILL THE END OF TIME, IF YOU WANT, SNAPE – I’M NOT LEAVING!”

Tom sat primly, if still quite uncomfortably, in the armchair by the fire and watched the entertainment. It was, as yet, relegated to glares, sneers, yelling and mild insults, but by the way that Harry was nearly vibrating with fury and Snape was wearing a facial expression almost displaying an actual emotion, things could spark into a duel at any second.  
It would obviously be a very short sharp painful reality shock for Harry. Snape would annihilate him effortlessly. 

Hermione was flapping about ineffectually, wringing her hands, as she always seemed to be. Watching her just made him regret that he had but two eyes to roll. Her flailing ineptitude certainly called for an entire operatic audience of eyerolls to truly do it justice.

“Potter – What you care about is completely irrelevant.” Snape took two infuriated steps toward them all which caused the young target of his ire to flinch back the same distance, although the man had not drawn his wand. Tom made a mental note of the reaction. There was something very familiar to it  
In a scathing hiss, Snape continued “You have demonstrated once again how foolish and unreliable you are by disobeying the direct order that I am certain the Headmaster gave you not to return here – No doubt he instructed you to in no circumstance place yourself in any situation alone with …that creature.”

Tom couldn’t keep the wry smirk from his own lips . “It’s a wonder he is still breathing if he behaves in this feckless manner constantly – Oh but don’t forget that it was Hermione..the, so to speak, responsible one… who brought him here. He would not have managed to find his way in here - would not have even thought to try, I imagine - had she not dragged him.”

Three irate faces snapped in his direction. He was ordered to be silent by the potions master while the other two simultaneously bleated objections with betrayal writ large on their faces. In midst the noise he could make out Hermione’s “You could have died!” and Harry’s “You want me to go?! Didn’t you ask me to stay?!”

Wearily, Tom let his head fall back against the chair. The bath had taken the barest edge off the aching in his entire body but now the exhaustion was beginning to growl and gnash its teeth again.  
Rational thought was, he had to concede, far more difficult to maintain when he was this tired. While true, what he had chosen to say aloud, and not merely think to himself, was probably not the best way to gain him a warm body to sleep next to, and thereby to regain his powers of critical thinking.

“Your opinions are not desired, Riddle. As it happens however, you are correct. Neither Potter nor Miss Granger have proven themselves adequate to the task of comporting themselves with due caution in your presence. Therefore – they will both be leaving –“ This provoked vigorous oppositional cries from both gryffindors, which were entirely ignored by the potions master.”

Startled at the too-slow realisation of what this would mean for him, Tom sputtered anxiously “And what of me? Will you leave me alone here?! I… my comment was hasty and ill-thought-out but… but I need-“

“We will resolve the matter when the headmaster returns” Snape interrupted, a smug edge of finality to the words. “As Miss Granger is evidently not capable of the task, another will be found to guard you, no doubt. Someone less sympathetic”

Tom found his eyes meeting the dazzling green gaze of his supposed enemy. The defiance and desperation he met there was heartening. Utterly futile, but heartening nonetheless.  
“I won’t go, Tom. Don’t worry” Harry said in a quiet, insistent voice as if imploring Tom to believe him.

“Stupefy” was muttered behind him with audible relish. The pretty wretch crumpled to the floor.

“You can’t just…. Just… stupefy students for no reason!! You’re a Professor!! You are supposed to be-”  
Hermione was outraged. 

Now, Tom actually did roll his eyes.  
“Of course he can.” He interrupted curtly, “He just did, didn’t he? It is obviously within his capabilities. And even if the fact of his having done it were not argument enough, Hermione, Hogwarts professors are explicitly permitted to cast upon students in their own protection. As you saw, Harry was not prepared to remove himself from my presence. A professor might easily argue that his judgement was impaired and that forcible removal was for his own good.”

Surprisingly, Snape made a grand gesture toward him, as if to say – ‘see, the boy understands’

Hermione gaped unflatteringly and seemed about to rephrase since they had obviously both missed the naïve point she was trying to make.

The Potions Master, bless his black heart, pre-empted the pointless rant quite efficiently with a firm “Miss Granger – we are leaving. Walk or be levitated with Potter.”

With weary resignation that, for a moment, he thought he saw reflected in the dour beaky man’s eyes, Tom asked without a great deal of hope “When will the headmaster be returning?”

Snape paused thoughtfully. “Who can say, Mr Riddle?! Dumbledore is almost as infuriating as Potter, is some respects. I imagine he will return at the most inconvenient moment with extra work for myself.” Another hesitation. “I…could offer you a potion to tranquilise you…but I imagine you would be disinclined to consume any potion given by my hand.”

Tom sighed. “Could you…” He broke off, realising it was pointless. There was nothing that the man could or would do for him that would be of any benefit. “It doesn’t matter” he amended softly. “Take them away. I doubt I shall be conscious for long enough to concern myself with whether the Headmaster will return before I expire.”

He ignored the horrified gaspy sob from Hermione and turned back to the fire. 

There was something in Snape’s quietly spoken “Come along” to Hermione which had a funereal air to it. As of a parent turning their child’s face away from an unpleasant accident, a pitiful beggar or a dying animal.

Thinking of the damage he might have done to his eyes the last time that he fell into catatonia, Tom closed them carefully now and adjusted his position in the chair slightly to exert less pressure on his back, not bothering to delude himself that he might remain awake and alert for any length of time.

Indeed, the door closing was the last sound he heard before he slid back into the quiet emptiness of his mind.


	21. Chapter 21

Spells.

There was a sound. Crashing. Something breaking. The sound a sharp percussion in the almost musical arrangement of several male and female voices screaming curses and offensive hexes, and the spells themselves hissing through the air somewhere vaguely above him and to the left. 

He registered this dimly, but it had no further sense to it. He hadn’t the slightest idea why he suddenly found himself lying on the ground in the midst of a battle.   
He couldn’t quite manage to open his eyes.   
Or indeed, move any other part of his body.  
Even the ground below felt like a muted kind of sensation against his back.

“RAPACIO!!” a different male voice screeched, from somewhere above and to the left of him. “DEVORANTO TENEBRIS!”, “OBIEKTO! CAVE INIMCUM!”

Something settled on his chest, the sensation barely felt. It could be a hand, or a half tonne lead weight, for all his senses were telling him.  
But oddly, things started to become clearer after it was placed there.

“It’ll take them a while to get through that..” the male voice above him muttered, sounding equal parts satisfied and terrified. “What the fuck did they do to you?! Salazar… what’s-“   
A sound like tearing silk interjected and the male voice, which sounded quite familiar, Tom thought, cursed under his breath, now sounding even more worried than before.

A sharp movement and the hand above him was removed swiftly. Tom struggled against the deep inertia he was mired in to try and open his eyes. There was no response from his body. It may well have died, and left him a consciousness entombed in rotting flesh, for all he knew.

“AVIS OPPUGNO! EXPELLIARMUS!” a female voice screeched anew from somewhere further away. A second male voice from a few degrees further to the right in the distance bellowed its own curses. Obviously the magical barrier that his protector (?) had erected had been torn down by the attackers in swift order.

“PROTEGO” the male above him spat. “FLAMMIS SECATA!”

There was a high pitched yelp of pain and some cries of fire retarding charms.

Tom fought harder to open his eyes. If he didn’t manage to pull himself together, he would be left entirely at the mercy of whoever won this little altercation. And if he didn’t do it soon, it was likely that the male who was beside him, despite the fact he seemed to be throwing some halfway decent dark hexes, would be defeated by the more numerous attackers. 

As another expelliarmus and several other low level hexes were yelled in his direction, and four more mid level dark curses were hurled by the male voice beside him, he noted absently that the opponents did not seem to be using any life-threatening spells – apparently seeking to distract, disarm or immobilise more than anything else. 

“Wingardium-Leviosa” he caught the other’s mutter and then felt the faint press against his back vanish. 

“Fuck! Stop him!” a distant male almost screeched. “Don’t let him get to that door!

CONFRINGO! The male who had wrapped his hand around Tom’s upper arm snapped. “IGNIS! BOMBARDA! SECTO! DURO!”  
There was a male cry of pain, followed closely by a female one that sounded more horrified than pained, and a third distant male voice… again.. a very familiar voice bellowed out “CRUCIO!!”

It had obviously met its target well enough, because there was a scream of agony close beside him and the next thing he knew something had hit his entire body hard. He imagined it was probably the ground. The screaming went on and on and he was jostled slightly by the force of the other male’s writhing and struggling.

“HARRY! STOP! STOP NOW!!” the female voice sobbed loudly. “It’s… it’s enough now! Please…Harry - Ron! We have to get him to Madame Pomfrey! I..I can’t fix this!”

Sense crystalized for Tom suddenly. The familiar voices placed themselves once again. The body that had now stopped twisting and screaming next to him was Draco.

The proximity, he realised. It was the proximity to another person that must be bringing him back slowly. And with the newly revived braincells came a flood of other memories – Draco had been instructed to retrieve him from his little prison. He was to have only one chance at achieving this objective…  
If Draco was here now, that spoke strongly for today – here and now – being that one chance. 

And if that was the case, then he was about to lose his chance, since, to judge by the muffled whimpering at his left, Draco would likely not be in any fit state to continue to fight.

He could hear Harry and Hermione fussing over the other – Ron. They seemed to be having a muffled argument. Of all times to have a debate…

And then there was a low boom, and the floor shook. The argument stopped. Even Draco’s gaspy breaths beside him stilled.

There was another crashing boom and then a third shortly following it. The room gave a low groaning creak all around them of magic under stress.

“Fuck… fuck… they’re outside. They’ve found us already. We can’t stay here Hermione, we have to leave now. If they get through that door, we’re all dead! Where else can we take him?!”

There was a pause which was pointedly interrupted by another, much louder boom and a jarring shake. 

With everything in him, Tom pushed, not at his eyelids, or his stupid irresponsive hands, but at his magic. He needed to heal himself. His only chance at escape was slipping away before his bloody persistently-closed eyes. Muscles.. nerves.. He couldn’t think of a spell that could fix massive whole body damage, and probably atrophy, in a short space of time – but surely, with enough raw, desperate will, he could do something? 

“I’ll take Tom. You bring Ron”   
Tom would have jumped, if he’d been capable. Harry was standing directly over him. 

“The ring!! Don’t forget the ring, Harry. Er… maybe we should stun him, just in case. He… he could be awake and-“

“No. I’m not stunning him. I’m not going to treat him like a-”

“We have no time for this, Harry… Stupify!”

 

 

“Finally perking up a bit, I see…”

Tom shivered and opened his eyes automatically at the sound of a voice that was both familiar and foreign. 

Blackness surrounded him. He blinked again and turned his head this way and that. There was no change. Had he gone blind? Had his body degraded in its fugue to such an extent that his eyes had sustained irreversible damage?

“I confess, I had never thought to meet you. And certainly not in the flesh, so to speak” the disembodied voice observed curiously, its position indiscernible. It seemed to emanate from the darkness on all sides

There was something wrong with it. The voice. It made him shiver. It was cold, knowing, and so very familiar.

“I can feel your confusion. Perhaps I will give you a very small hint. Remind me - what is the most powerful number?”

The shape of the answer began to dawn on Tom abruptly - but it was impossible! The other diary was destroyed, Harry had said, and how would a pair of Hogwarts students come upon another horcrux?! Surely his other self had hidden them very carefully. Tom could think of dozens of wards and protections that might be placed around an object to shield it from any hand but the casters.

“He was… we were… not as thorough as either of us might have expected, it appears” the voice spoke dryly. “And clearly, it need not be stated, but I…we… should have heeded our own advice regarding the wisdom of making more. Had I not dismissed you so readily, I would not have spent an ageless aeon in the silent and empty unbroken darkness of our ancestor’s ring.” The voice seemed to hesitate and when it spoke again there was a tone of entreaty to it “On that note – you will, I hope, afford me the same redemption as you have been privileged to attain.”

Tom shook his head, if he even had a head in this place. He was speechless and slightly horrified. If it had been torture to be trapped in an empty world, with a library, Hogwarts grounds to wander through, and all of the ghostly comforts of home, how then might it have been to be trapped with his own thoughts in darkness for a seeming eternity. 

“Please…”

The utter desperation in the voice now made his heart ache in memory.

After long minutes in which the very atmosphere around him seemed to tighten in anguish and tension, he managed to reply.

“I do not know how I was reembodied. Dumbledore restored me. He is an old man now.   
…I had begged him for death, but instead he restored me.” 

The shade seemed to receive this information with horror, if the shift in the atmosphere was any indication.

Reluctantly, Tom added “…Since then I have been his captive within a heavily warded chamber in Hogwarts.” 

The atmosphere thickened further. Tom imagined he could taste his other self’s aversion to the prospect of being Albus Dumbledore’s prisoner. But there was still more that he should share, to give his fellow prisoner a true idea of the measure of things. He ploughed through with as neutral a tone as he could manage.

“Our other self, I have learned, is now a serpent-faced Dark Lord, currently at war with the entire wizarding world. I communicated with him once, and I have concerns he may think to destroy me to restore himself, if given half the chance.”

At that, the texture of the space he was in abruptly shifted and became turbulent with the horcrux’s emotions. Shock, anger and fear were dominant among them. It was almost painful. Although… pain was not exactly the word for it. The loudness of the emotions was disorientating and crushing. His mind felt blunted, as if he had been beaten around the head and was stunned.

Tom hesitated long minutes before sharing the final piece of information, which he knew would not offer his fellow horcrux any hope.

“My last memories were of some form of battle. I believe I may have been taken from Hogwarts. I do not know if Dumbledore still lives.”

The silence and emotional reaction stretched on for a long time and if he had had anything like a body here…wherever here was… Tom knew he would have fallen to his knees. Eventually however it settled slightly, though it felt like a veneer. The voice spoke again with soft desperate pleading.  
“But you are flesh once more. If you are now free of Dumbledore’s grasp, and if our other self has not gained control of you - surely you can free me. It will take very little. I can tell you exactly how to do it! You cannot think to leave me here, when you know well my torment?!”

Tom deliberated. It was an idea that hadn’t occurred to him up to now. He had automatically acted to assist his other self. Taken it as an assumption that he would help him. 

It was odd, he realised. He had never before been naturally inclined to empathy or altruism.

But then was it altruistic when the one you helped was, in a certain sense, yourself?

Could he choose not to help him though? Would he leave his own soul here in this endless purgatory?

On the other hand – why should he help him? It would be fair and just retribution to ignore his pleading after the other had left him in the diary for so many years. He had, as the shard had itself conceded, strongly warned against making another horcrux and begged for help to escape his prison. His other self had dismissed him entirely and tossed him away without a second thought. Indeed revenge had been one of his first thoughts on regaining his body.

“I will think on it” he answered neutrally.

As if the other horcrux realised the true nature of his indecision, the barely sublimated fear/rage suddenly exploded into a sense-deafening maelstrom around him. Tom found he lacked any means of shielding himself from it. He tried to withdraw, but there were no directions in this endless black and the storm was all around him.

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!” the horcrux roared. “NOT NEARLY GOOD ENOUGH! IF YOU WILL NOT AID ME, I WILL TAKE YOUR FLESH. YOU MAY REMAIN IN THIS PRISON FOR YOUR DISLOYALTY!!”

The prospect of being entombed again was enough to propel him! Tom fought, struggling to find the right frame of reference to fight in. This prison was, it seemed, very different to his own, and the horcrux was strong here. He pushed with his magic, but it was like pressing against the wind. The violent waves washed over him and there was a sickening tide rising all around, trying to assert its will- trying to render him compliant. It felt, he realised, not dissimilar to the imperius curse. He cursed again that he had never had the opportunity to develop his resistance to it.

But he refused to relent. He refused to lie down quietly and sleep for all eternity. His form, frail and flawed as it appeared to be, was precious. More precious than anything. The struggle went on for what seemed like hours, before he managed to grasp how to manipulate the space as the other Horcrux was doing. Only then did he realise what was truly being manipulated. He had never realised that the soul itself had any substance. And perhaps this was not truly substance, but in this place, it was the material through which he was passing, the channel through which they were communicating. And all of this violent turbulence was nothing more than a distraction. The true battle was hidden beneath a faint sensation of weakening and fading, as if there were a hole within him, through which cold liquid was falling.

It was the sensation of his soul being siphoned from his physical form and replaced by another.

Having realised it, he focused his will upon reversing it. He needed to wake – needed to return to his body and eject this usurper. For a moment the terror gripped him as he realised he was losing – and he started to panic.

And then a warmth slowly surrounded him, creeping over him, familiar and tingling. 

“Tom…” a voice whispered from far away. “Tom… what’s happening to you?! please wake up! You can’t die!! I’m so sorry! So sorry!”

Harry…

His heart shuddered somewhere. 

It felt as if everything around him lightened as the warm tingling grew and then he was falling fast down a tunnel, sliding with liquid speed along a path toward the voice. 

As he suddenly became aware of the sensation of his body around him, he heard a faint screech of fury and anguish in his mind, fading, as if torn away into the abyss. 

 

With a great jolting gasp, Tom woke.

 

 

The warm tingling was all around him, but rather than the discomfort it had brought the last time he had awakened, it was like warm electrified honey to his nerves once more. He groaned softly, pulling closer to the body that lay beside him, its arms curled protectively around him

“Tom?!” the whisper that came from a point just in front of his face had the kind of slurred sudden alertness that told him Harry had been asleep before he had moved.

It was dark when he opened his eyes. He wondered momentarily if he was blind, but his mind made the connection to the whisper, his position lying in a bed, blankets around him and…yes... wearing what were probably pyjamas if the soft flannel fabric was any indication. He wasn’t blind. It was night and he was somewhere that was darker than his room back at Hogwarts. Possibly somewhere without windows. 

He felt…good. Really good in fact. But then Harry was inches away from him. In the dark. In a bed. So, it was probably not the permanent kind of good.

“Where are we, Harry?” he whispered back to the still form curled around him, almost trembling with alertness, and gasped as he was immediately set upon by the other boy, clamped into an embrace that threatened to break bones. The other was frantic. He could make out some of the words Harry was murmuring into his shoulder as he crushed him. “thank god... So worried… Alive... So sorry... Never do it…

Uncertain and far too affected by the pleasant buzz of Harry’s skin so close to his own, he patted the other lightly on the back. Was that soothing and appropriate? He wasn’t sure. It was odd to be confronted by someone so relieved he was alive. …Who happened to be his enemy, albeit a helpless one. …And whose proximity seemingly automatically made his mind let go of the controls and flat-out tailspin to the gutter. If he let his hands brush up and under the other boy’s pyjama shirt to touch more of him, well that was hardly intentional. Obviously.

He stiffened a moment later. Well…stiffened in a more whole-of-body manner than he had been previously. Was the other boy crying?! Tom’s shoulder was feeling decidedly damp. 

It appeared he had been, as Harry made a vague rubbing motion of his face against him to wipe off the tears before he drew back again. Sighing inwardly, Tom slipped his hands back out from where they had been investigating the edge of Harry’s pyjama bottoms. His chances of persuading the other to take them off right now were probably not good. But toeing the social etiquette line and pretending to be sympathetic might help his chances in five minutes time. 

Soft breath in front of his face, faintly tinged with mint, gave him good indication of where Harry’s head lay, on the pillow in front of him.

“I was worried. You wouldn’t wake up.” Harry whispered soggily. “it’s been over a week with you just lying here like you were dead. Hermione said-…” he trailed off and gave a gaspy breath, as if he was trying to get himself back under control.

“Hermione said….what?” Tom prompted when it seemed like no further words would be forthcoming. He was somewhat undecided about the benefits of Hermione’s continued existence. She was pretty, yes, and she had saved him… a few times… certainly – but she was unreasonably limited by her own morals, stubborn, insulting, and difficult and she seemed to get in the way of everything he wanted. But if Harry was mentioning her, then it was likely she was around here somewhere. He reminded himself to keep his voice down. If she came in here, he would doubtless wind up no longer lying in a bed next to Harry, with the faint prospect of relieving him of his pyjamas. 

He felt the pillow move, as if the other had shook his head. “it doesn’t matter what she said. I kept you safe. I stayed close by your side as much as I could. Fed you. Washed you. I kept trying to enervate you but it wouldn’t work. I even put the ring on you in case-”

“What?!!” Tom hissed, only barely managing to lower his voice. With urgency borne of both anger and terror he fumbled at his hands, looking for the cursed thing on one of his fingers. They were all bare. “Where is it?! What did you do with it?!” he said more loudly, trying to be calm and failing completely.

His hands were gripped under the covers and stilled. He was reminded again how irritating it was to feel the enticing tingle when he wanted to be furious.   
“Stop. Calm down. It’s not gone - It’s just on the bedside table” Harry murmured. “I took it off again last night when you started having some kind of fit. It had seemed to be working up to then but I wasn’t sure whether it was a good sign or a bad sign. I guess it was good after all.”

He seemed to wait expectantly, as if he were a puppy waiting for a pat on the head and a biscuit.

Tom bared his teeth in anger, though the other couldn’t see it. “It was a bad sign, Harry. The fit you saw was the horcrux in the ring trying to take my body and leave me trapped in its place. Keep the ring away from me.”

The larger boy stilled and Tom thought he might go back to crying again, but after a moment he felt the pillow move as he nodded and answered in a low regret-filled voice “Oh… okay. Sorry. I…didn’t know it would do that. I thought… well…that it would help you. Sort of bring more of you together. That it might make you stronger.

Tom huffed softly, pushing the other boy’s hand away when he reached as if to draw Tom back into his arms. He was sure if he could see his face, he’d be wearing that hurt confused expression again. But this wasn’t the time for that. He hated to share information, and no information was more precious than this - but it was important for Harry to understand. As soon as possible. If he did not fully comprehend, there were liable to be misunderstandings – such as that Tom might willingly come within two metres of the ring again. Or that the horcrux in the ring, pitiful prisoner that it was, was deserving of the same measure of sympathy that Harry gave Tom. Neither of these false impressions could be allowed to take root in the other boy’s Gryffindor little mind!

The twit had thought it would help him! That was the lens through which Gryffindors saw the world, and it explained not only why they were frequently exploited, but why they got along with Huffelpuffs better than with the other houses. Obviously, one would help oneself if they came upon them. Of course, of course! Just like one helped other people, like family and friends and random beggars on the street.

“Horcruxes do not work that way, Harry” he whispered reluctantly, in as calm a voice as he could manage. “He is not…me. Not exactly. I am a part of who Tom Marvolo Riddle was when he was fourteen – but I am not all of the person he was. And I’ve spent…a very long time alone in an empty ghost of Hogwarts. I’ve grown, in my way, during that time. I am not the same as I was when I first awoke in the Diary. He is another part of Tom Marvolo Riddle, from when he was …older. I don’t know when – he doesn’t seem to have a physical form in there. I’m certain his years were even more unpleasant than mine in the diary- and that makes him dangerous, since he wants nothing in the world more than to get out – to have what I have – what you have - physical form. …But he has had different experiences to me. He views himself as a separate person. He does not view himself as me. And neither of us view ourselves as the one you know as Lord Voldemort.”

He added, as an afterthought, although it was probably the most important factor. “and of course, we are both… all… Slytherins. In the most literal sense. We are defined by ambition and survival instinct. When he realised I had no means of resurrecting him, he took the only chance he could see, which lay in usurping my body. It was easy for him to do so, since that is what horcruxes are made to do. The spells on the ring give him an advantage over the wearer. Stay away from it, Harry.”

There was a long silence and he had the strong sense that the other boy was thinking hard about everything he’d just learned. He felt him shift in the bed, turning to lie on his back.

Tom was just beginning to settle down again, relaxing into the bed with his eyes closed, when Harry had to go and ruin it.

“I didn’t really think about it…” the other boy’s voice whispered in the darkness. “that there was an actual person trapped in the ring.”

Tom’s eyes flicked open again in horror at the parts of his message the other boy had apparently decided to focus on.

“I just thought it was like…a piece of magic. You know like a battery… or like when you place a spell on something it carries a piece of your magic. I thought it was like that, only more. Just a clever piece of magic”

“Harry…” Tom warned in a low growl.

“I mean – it was probably stupid. After all – I met the other diary Horcrux too and he looked like a person standing right in front of me, holding my bloody wand. …I…I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I was twelve. I thought he was like a ghost or something, not a person – not alive. I didn’t think about whether he might’ve been desperate, and why. And I didn’t have much time to think, since he was killing Ginny and trying to kill me too.”

This was not new information for Tom, apart from the fact that his other self had apparently had Harry’s wand (what the bloody hell had stopped it from killing him then?!) and he was more concerned about the direction Harry’s mind was taking with regard to the personhood of a vicious horcrux that would be furious at having been tossed back in its prison, and waiting with baited breath for another chance to take Tom’s body. He was just about to slap his hand over the other’s mouth and explain to him what a susceptible moron he was being when-

“I’m supposed to destroy it…”

Tom frowned.

That hadn’t been what he’d expected Harry to say next. Not even slightly. Harry had surely been about to say something daft like ‘do you think you could reason with him maybe? Tell him all about the lovely fluffy feelings we all have for him and that we’ll help him as soon as we can, so he needs to just be patient?” Tom could almost hear him saying it.

“Hermione is looking for a way to do it. And then I’m supposed to-.”

“what do you mean …destroy?” Tom found himself asking.

The other boy shifted in the bed in twitchy tension.

“I mean destroy. Kill. I’m supposed to kill him. There’s some kind of prophesy and I’m supposed to go around looking for all the horcruxes and destroying them somehow. To save the wizarding world.”

He felt as if a familiar pair of socks had suddenly produced razor-sharp teeth and started to devour his legs from the ankle up. He’d known Harry was his enemy… but he’d always seemed so foolish. So harmless. Just minutes ago, Harry had wept on Tom’s shoulder in relief that he was ok. And now he was lying beside him and saying so blandly that he was going to destroy his soul utterly. As if it were simply a chore he had to do.

He’d had Harry helpless under his wand, and he’d hesitated. His other self must have been wild with rage. How could he have hesitated?!!

Well he wouldn’t hesitate now. 

He focused on the spell. He knew the one he’d use. It was a relatively humane choice – it would just turn Harry’s brain into a fine dust within his skull…

He concentrated…and nothing.

No magic.

He had no magic. The Gryffindor twit would weep on his shoulder over worry for him, and yet someone had had the thrice-damned forethought to somehow curb his access to magic.

Of all the…

“Are you going to kill me too?” he bit out with a tight voice. Maybe he should be running.  
He was in pyjamas. But still. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe he should have just pretended to sleep…

He didn’t think he was even capable of pretending to sleep anymore. He would either end up actually asleep or in the blank nothingness he kept falling into in its place. The only thing keeping him awake and lucid right now was likely the boy next to him in the bed – who was going to KILL him.

“NO!” Harry snapped back angrily, far too loudly. “No” he whisper-hissed again more quietly “of course I’m not – Jesus, I’d forgotten what a prat you can be.”

Marginally mollified, Tom prodded further.

“So, you’re not going to kill me – you’re just going to kill ALL of the rest of my soul. Oh well that’s fine then. I’m not at all concerned.”

“you were JUST saying that ring-horcrux Tom is dangerous and we shouldn’t help him. What the hell?!”

“Yes” he hissed, furiously slipping into Parsel without even noticing it. “He’s dangerous, and he left me in the Diary when I pleaded with him to get me out, so let him rot. But that doesn’t mean I want to kill part of my soul. It doesn’t mean that I am content to die. What exactly do you think will happen, after you’ve butchered the rest of my soul?! Do you think the wizarding world will just let me live?”

Harry was silent for a long minute. Tom hoped he was actually using his brain as something more than padding for his skull.

“I’ll protect you” he mumbled finally. “I can protect you. Hide you. We’ll change your appearance and no one will know you’re still alive.

He wanted to hit him. “I’m not the main soul-piece, Harry!” he snapped. “I’m a horcrux. I’ll explain it to you in very small words, since it sounds like whoever sent you on this fool’s errand didn’t give you the rules of the game – It is not my existence that is prolonged by Voldemort, but his by me. If you kill him, but leave me alive – he will be bound to the mortal plane by my existence and, as a wandering spirit, will eventually be able to recover his body. The reverse is however not true for me. If you kill me and he lives – I will die, permanently, and he will merely become marginally less immortal! Now do tell me more about how you plan to hide me and keep me safe from those who would see me dead.”

There was a long heavy silence before Harry hissed in furious parseltongue ::I can’t believe it. She KNEW. She must have! It’s the only reason why she’d act like that. She fucking KNEW IT – and she didn’t tell me! She fought like hell to save you from Malfoy but then after we’d got you here, after we’d fixed Ron up a bit, she was all of a sudden banging on about how you’d never wake up again and the humane thing to do would be to just let you go… That’s how she kept putting it. As if you were some kind of caged bird and killing you would be so noble. She was so insistent. Said it would be better in the long run because even if you did wake up, you couldn’t survive for long::

Tom felt chilled to the bone suddenly. Hermione… who had saved him not once but thrice… wanted to kill him. Probably always had.   
And she was somewhere around here. In the dark. What if she woke up? He had no magic. Harry was weak in defence. Again, he found himself wishing he’d taught him his shield charm. Harry was evidently the ONLY thing currently keeping him alive. 

But then Hermione had always deferred to Harry. Every. Single. Time. So perhaps she would continue in that fashion. If Harry said he was to be protected, perhaps she would wait until the last moment to try to kill him.

“Thank you” he whispered.

“what?!” Harry, still fuming to himself, sounded off balance and confused now.

“For protecting me” he explained.

“Oh.”

He waited for long minutes hesitating about whether to ask about his magic. It was not the right time. Asking now would probably not get him the answer and then Harry would be thinking about the fact that he had no magic now, and what he might do if he regained it. But in the end – he didn’t know how much time he had. Perhaps he could stack the deck slightly, if he was persuasive.

He edged over in the bed until he could feel the other boy next to him again. A positive side effect of this was the gentle frisson in his nerves. A negative was the mild nervousness in his stomach. He’d only tried this once before… and he’d never finished it.

“Tom? What are you doing?” Harry sounded suspicious. 

“thanking you” he whispered, reaching out and letting his fingers brush over the buttons of the other boy’s pyjama top under the covers. “will you let me?”

A hand caught his, and his breath caught. It was only a hand, but Harry touching any part of him felt good.   
“you… you don’t have to thank me like that” Harry mumbled, not sounding so insistent about it himself, now that he was touching him again.

“But I want to…”

He guided their hands slowly to Harry’s top button, flicking it open and delving his fingers below the edge of the shirt slightly, feeling the strange pleasant tingle in his fingertips. Harry’s hand on his tightened and then loosened again indecisively.

He moved his hand down and opened the next button and the next, before Harry’s hand tightened again, holding his in place.

“We shouldn’t do this”

Tom didn’t bother responding, but moved even closer, until he was pressed against Harry’s side. Slowly, so as not to frighten off his prey, he climbed up over the other boy in the darkness until he could lift one leg and wrap it over his, his warm bare foot pressed lightly against his calf. Now when he dragged himself up carefully, his thigh rested warmly over the other boy’s groin. He could feel that parts of Harry were definitely interested in what was happening, and was uncomfortably aware of the tightening of his own pants. Unfortunately – this little play was not for him. He rather expected he would not get to come at all, even if he was successful. He restrained himself with difficulty from rocking his hardness against the warm thigh he was straddling.

“Tom… They’re sleeping just over there. Stop!” Harry hissed urgently.

He ignored him and pulled his hand back slowly and dragged it down to the next button, flicking it open and spreading his shirt slightly, to place his palm flat on the other boy’s abdomen. He heard the slight gasp in the dark and leaned forward to kiss the skin beside his hand, tracing his tongue upward slowly as he removed his hand to open the last button and spread Harry’s shirt wide open. 

“We’ll be quiet then” he murmured against the other boy’s skin, pulling himself up further till he had a knee balancing him on the outside of Harry’s thigh, and was free to slide both of his palms up the skin at the sides of his abdomen. He could sense Harry’s hand hovering in the dark above, as if the boy couldn’t decide whether to push him off or not. Gently gently then. Mustn’t scare him. He licked a path up to his nipple, even as he leaned down, coincidentally grinding against Harry’s cock with his thigh. He heard a low moan that abruptly ended with a slap sound that he was sure was Harry covering his own mouth with his hand.

He let his hand trail back down the other’s body, as slowly as he could, until he reached the edge of his pyjama bottoms. He didn’t dare go further until he had a sign that Harry had decided to accept this. Otherwise he could panic, and it would set everything back dangerously.

Harry seemed to love having his nipples sucked, if his speeding breath beneath him was any indication. He traced his fingertips back and forth across his abdomen above the pyjama pants and breathed softly against his skin.

“I want to suck you…”

He heard a muffled “T-tom!” but no hand descended on his shoulder to stop him; so carefully, he slipped his hand slowly under the waistband where his fingers had been lingering. There was a soft moan from Harry as his hand found the older boy’s cock and he smirked in the dark, gripping it gently and sliding his hand lightly up and down along it. He felt the other rocking his hips slightly against his hand.

“you know my mouth will feel so much nicer than this.” He punctuated his words with a squeeze of the heavy organ in his hand.

“Fuck…” it was hissed and still sounded indecisive. “That feels so…”

“I won’t unless you let me. But… I really…want to.” he purred, playing on the other boy’s need for Tom to take the lead, but to still feel he was in control of what happened.   
“I want your hard cock so deep in my throat… I want you to fuck my mouth hard. Please Harry! Please say yes...”

Harry didn’t respond. He seemed to have stilled completely. Tom was wondering if he had laid it on a bit too thick, when the other boy growled low and suddenly moved under him. He found himself on his back with Harry pressing him down into the mattress. There was a mouth against his own, lips, teeth. He opened at once to the violent kiss of the larger boy, sucking on Harry’s tongue and cursing silently even as he felt his mind slip into disordered pleasure. He didn’t even notice as he was swiftly undressed, his pyjama pants dragged roughly down his legs. He could only groan loudly into the other’s mouth as the pleasure was suddenly turned up and up with a tall, warm, naked body against his own, then a larger hand clamped around his own cock, rubbing and pulling. He bucked against it helplessly, whining in the back of his throat, feeling out of control. The feeling was too much. He couldn’t pull away from it and lead Harry where he needed him to go. The other was lying between his parted legs stroking and teasing him, and he knew he was bucking and mewling like a wanton whore, but he couldn’t stop.

Thankfully Harry broke the kiss finally with a gasp for air and a hissed “fuck… yes. I’ll give it to you. Get on your fucking knees and suck me.”

The other boy didn’t wait for Tom to obey but instead dragged him forcefully up and onto his hands and knees. Which was probably for the best because just enough of Tom’s mind remained to be furious by the tone and its implication. As it was, he abruptly found himself on his hands and knees like a slut in front of the other boy, who was presumably kneeling up in front of him in the dark. This was not at all how he had envisioned this. On the other hand, he needed Harry to be on his side right now. And it was not as if he had not wanted to taste the other’s body again. He knew they were excuses and he would be ashamed of himself later, but there was no way to safely go back now. 

He felt a hand fall lightly on his head, touching experimentally, his fingers delving and stroking, and then gripping into his hair and tugging on it more roughly, pulling his head up. He felt disorientated in the darkness, naked and exposed on his hands and knees, not knowing where the next touch might fall. After a moment, he flinched slightly when soft tingling velvet stroked across his face and then across his lips. 

“Open your mouth…” Harry whispered.

He did, and promptly squeaked and choked when the other immediately thrust deep into his throat, and then didn’t stop, the large organ moving quickly in and out and delving deeper, while he struggled for air.

::You’re going to take it all:: Harry hissed softly. ::You’re going to swallow it down all the way until I feel your nose pressed into my skin::

Tom’s eyes watered. He wanted to throw up every time Harry’s cock hit the back of his throat, his mouth and throat already hurt, and he couldn’t even fit half of it in his mouth. Suddenly he understood that Draco might not have been purely currying favour when he said he liked the fact that he was so small. Particularly in light of the memory his other self had gifted him with. 

And this was REALLY not the time to be thinking of that delightful little horror show, he thought as a second hand fell on his head and wound itself into his hair and the other boy held him in place as if by handles, fucking into his mouth hard.

When he had gagged for the seventh or eighth time, miserably wishing the other boy would just come, to his utter astonishment he heard Harry chuckle softly and hiss ::Laryngcapus:: and the gag sensation disappeared altogether. The sensation of the hard cock driving into his gullet was still not pleasant, but at least he didn’t want to throw up. No, he only had to deal with the lack of oxygen now. He wondered all at once how the other boy knew a spell in Parsel that made oral sex easier, when Harry spoke again softly, in between panting breaths, chilling Tom to the bones.

“I gave you young Malfoy for your pleasure, and still you persist in being a wanton little slut. If you insist upon prostituting yourself in this way, then you may as well learn how to please…how to be a convenient hole for men to fuck.”

He was so horrified that he almost bit down on the organ in his mouth in shock.

“Careful my pet. You do not want to anger me any further. I am already quite at the end of my patience with you.”

It was Harry’s voice. But it wasn’t Harry. Somehow it wasn’t Harry. The only person who could possibly know about Draco… who would know obscure spells in Parsel for sexual purposes… who would say those things…

He yelped as the hands tightened in his hair and with a hard thrust, he was dragged all the way onto the cock in his mouth until his nose brushed the light stubble Harry had in place of pubic hair and his throat felt tight and full and bruised.

And then held there.

“I should thank you for drawing my attention to Harry Potter’s little peculiarities. Without you, I may not have realised what he was until it was far too late. So …I thank you…” 

The hands tightened in his hair to the point of pain and he struggled, trying and failing to pull back, feeling like he was going to suffocate. “However, as you yourself hadn’t the faintest inkling of his nature, the coincidental help you have provided does little to excuse your traitorous behaviour toward the boy!”

Tom whimpered, tugging against the hands helplessly and hating himself for how desperate it sounded. He needed to breathe! He couldn’t breathe!! Please!

To his relief he was allowed to retreat until he could gasp a desperate breath through his nose. He sounded like a bellows as he struggled to get enough oxygen into his lungs as quickly as possible.

“You are not finished” Harry’s voice was low and merciless. “Any half decent whore knows that you do not get to rest until you have pleased your John. And this time, you will suck as hard as you are able. At the finish, you will swallow it all and then clean me with your tongue. If you are…convincing… I may be inclined to give you the chance to make your own way to me, rather than taking you by force where you sleep. If I am obliged to recover you like chattel, I assure you – you will carry no more status for me than as an item of chattel.”

Tom swallowed painfully. His other self knew where he was. Knew who he was with.

It was pitch black still, but he could do little else than nod slightly for the other to feel against his hands.

His head was gently stroked in response like some kind of animal, before the other man’s hands delved once more into it, gripping roughly. 

He didn’t know whether his throat had become numb to the bruising thrusts, but when the cock in his mouth started driving forward again, it wasn’t quite as painful as it had been. He tried to suck, although it was difficult with the speed and the movement. He tried as hard as he could even so, and hoped it would be enough. Salazar knew that god may love those that try, but Tom himself had never tolerated anything less than excellence. His other self would likely view the world in very similar terms.

The hands in his hair loosened slightly and he felt them lightly scratch over his scalp pleasantly, now more guiding than forcing. He tried to flick with his tongue against the shaft in his mouth and received a very quiet mmm of approval for it. “Very good, little horcrux.” Harry murmured between heavy breaths

It went on for another few minutes before he heard the breathed warning “Get ready to swallow it all.”

And then his mouth and his throat were full of bitter choking liquid. The cock was pulled roughly back and he felt a final warm gush paint his cheek, even as he heard a low sigh of pleasure.

He swallowed hard, and then swallowed again, trying not to cough on the hot, unpleasant tasting slime. When he felt a damp softening head pressed against his lips he did not pull away, but instead forced himself to lick it carefully and respectfully clean. He had the sense that it was already long cleaned, but his other self was enjoying the feeling of Tom’s tongue bathing his cock.

Finally, a hand dropped lightly on his head, stroking again. He remained still and quiet as a finger of the other hand swiped up his cheek, catching the final spray of come he had collected on it and then moved to his lips, offering it. He took it without hesitation, sucking the bitter salty liquid from the man’s finger and swallowing it without protest. The finger remained in his mouth for long seconds more, rubbing his tongue and moving in and out gently, before it was withdrawn.

“That was…most enjoyable, my pet.” Tom barely restrained a frown when the man resumed stroking him again. “I look forward to seeing you at my gates in the flesh …at some point before the next new moon, I think. Do not disappoint me again! And I would advise you not to oblige me to dispense a second lesson. Remember who you belong to! You will not enjoy what I will do to you if you betray me once more.”

Tom thought privately to himself that he hadn’t enjoyed what the man had done to him this night either, but he was focussed at the moment on getting through this in one piece and dealing with the consequences after he was safe.

“Oh, and Tom…”

He grit his teeth and remained silent, hating the sound Lord Voldemort made when he chuckled through Harry’s body.

Bring Harry with you. I have decided I am prepared to offer him protection…after a suitable period of atonement, of course. You know yourself that he will never survive if I allow word to slip to the wrong ear that he bears my soul. His friends will kill him by malice or ineptitude when they realise what he is. For the first time in his life – the only way to save him is to deliver him into my hands.” Another dry chuckle. “Think it over. I will see you very soon.” 

Kneeling in silence in the dark he waited, unwilling to risk moving or speaking until he was sure that the other had truly gone.

“What…” 

The soft confused voice was unmistakeably Harry. Tom wanted to throw himself on him and just take comfort… but knowing what he knew now, could he ever do that again? His other self could be sitting in his mind watching him, listening, judging his every expression.

“Why am I-? …Tom??”

“I’m here.” he responded softly.

Harry’s hiss was as close to a shout as a hiss got. “What the fuck just happened?! We were lying together a second ago and now I’m naked and it feels like I just… um…”

Tom sighed, hating his other self even more, if it were not physically impossible. He had reached the maximum possible hate value for the man already. Couldn’t he have stupefied Harry, or given him a false memory, or placed him back in bed?! He had a feeling that this was just a further part of his apparent punishment for forgetting ‘who he belonged to’. 

He was wary of thinking too loudly about Lord Voldemort’s expressed notions of who he belonged to. It was perhaps wiser to occlude his opinions on the matter to the hilt until he had a better idea of the limitations of the man’s access to him.

“Come to bed and sleep, Harry. We can talk about it tomorrow, when it’s light.”

As the other boy’s protest took on the stubborn tone of one who will not be silenced until satisfied, Tom thought again about his magic. How much easier this would be if he had it right now, and how his other self had effectively bombarda’d his plans to get it back in the near future.


End file.
